


Avengers Ameliorated

by whitchry9



Series: The Patron Saint of Idiots [2]
Category: Doctor Who, Iron Man (Movies), Sherlock (TV), The Avengers (Marvel Movies), Thor (Movies), Torchwood
Genre: Alcohol, Aliens, Christmas, Deaf Clint Barton, Drugs, F/M, Gen, Hurt Tony Stark, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Medical, Nests, Parties, Pining, Pneumonia, Pudding, Robots, SHIELD, Sick Tony Stark, Tony Stark Needs a Hug, all the avengers are basically big babies and can't take care of themselves, basically everyone shows up at one point or another, hints of ships but not really - Freeform, new york is a mess, outsider pov, preslash, stark parties don't stop
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-07-08
Updated: 2014-10-28
Packaged: 2018-02-08 00:55:43
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 28
Words: 25,503
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1920603
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/whitchry9/pseuds/whitchry9
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>a·mel·io·rate (verb)- to make or become better, more bearable, or more satisfactory; improve</p><p>Miranda thought she was done with dealing with ridiculous patients after Sherlock Holmes died. But apparently word of her medical prowess has spread, even across the ocean. And when Fury shows up in her flat one night, basically telling her that she is going to New York to be the go-to medical person for The Avengers, she figures they can't be too much worse, right?<br/>Hint- she's wrong.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Job Offer

**Author's Note:**

> Not necessary to read the Code 221b fic, but it is helpful.   
> Short summary: Miranda Higgins is a paramedic in London, and she manages to run into Sherlock Holmes more than once. Everyone is happy when John comes into his life, because it means less danger. Of course, when John gets hurt, Sherlock is on the warpath. Miranda manages to wrangle Sherlock and treat both of them when needed, and is not at all pleased when Sherlock jumps off a building. 
> 
> This fic takes place shortly after the events of both Reichenbach AND The Avengers, for the sake of timelines.

“Hello Miranda,” a voice said, and it was American, which she shouldn't have noticed, because it was midnight and it was dark in her flat and Ron wasn't home and there shouldn't have been anyone in her living room, let alone someone American.

“Fuck!” she swore, grabbing the lamp at her right to use as a weapon, like it would do a whole lot of good if she was attacked.

The voice chuckled

“Yeah, probably not the best idea to show up in your apartment in the middle of the night, but I needed to get you alone.” A light flicked on somewhere, and she could see where the voice was coming from. A large black man with an eyepatch was sitting on her couch, which wasn't near any lights, so she wasn't sure how he turned them on, but seriously, that had to be down the list of worries for now anyway.

“I am so dead,” she muttered, glancing between the lamp and the man. She was no match for him. But damn if she wasn't going to go down fighting. She wielded the lamp at him and hoped she looked threatening.

“You can take whatever you want,” she said. “We don't have much, but my wedding ring is worth a good amount. But if you come near me, I will smash you with this. It's a wedding gift, and believe me, it is heavy.”

The man only chuckled, standing up.

“I should probably introduce myself. I'm Nick Fury, director of SHIELD.”

She narrowed her eyes at him. “Is that supposed to mean something to me?”

“We're an intelligence agency based in America, so probably not. It's something like your James Bond.”

She didn't lower the lamp. “Why should I believe you?”

He shrugged. “I have a badge in my pocket, if you'll let me get it out without throwing that thing at me. It wouldn't work very well, by the way, since it's still plugged in, and the cord is only four feet long, but I'd rather not risk it.”

She gaped at him. “Whatever, get your damn badge out then.”

He offered it to her, and she glared at him before accepting it. The insignia was unfamiliar to her, but if it was an American organization, it probably wasn't prevalent in the UK. Hell, maybe it wasn't even prevalent in the States. Maybe it was one of those underground things that only existed in rumours.

 

“Okay, this is nice and everything,” she said, examining the badge and ID card, which read 'level 10'. She wondered how many levels there were. “But what the hell are you doing in my flat at midnight? I'm pretty sure that I haven't done anything to make you guys mad...”

She trailed off, thinking of the one thing that had been significant in her entire life, significant maybe even on a global scale.

“Is this about Sherlock Holmes?” she asked, the name still paining her to say. She hadn't even been close to him, but his death was still fresh in her mind, and it hurt.

He ignored her. “I'm here to offer you a job. You see, I have a team of... special people, and they have a habit of getting themselves injured. You have a history of getting impossible people to submit to medical treatment, and that reputation has made its way across the ocean. You've come highly recommended to us, and I will do anything to have you.”

Alarms were going off at that last bit.

“Anything?” she asked, grabbing the lamp again, unplugging it with her foot to make it into a more useful projectile.

He chuckled, which was really actually quite frightening coming from him. It was the sort of cognitive dissonance that made people want to claw their eyeballs out with their nails. She's seen it before; she would know.

“I should be more specific. What would it take to get you to come to New York and work for me. For SHIELD.”

She gaped at him, and really, she needed to get control of that. “You mean like... money and stuff?”

He smirked. “Yes. What sort of salary would convince you to move to New York? We can get your husband a job working with us as well. You don't even have to quit your jobs here. They will wait for you if you ever come back. Your apartment can stay exactly as is, and SHIELD will cover the costs of maintaining it, as well as getting you accommodations in New York. We're a government agency, Mrs Higgins. We don't like to stoop to such levels as kidnapping.”

She didn't like the way he _didn't_ rule out kidnapping, only that they don't _like_ to do it. Not concerning at all.

“Your starting salary would be approximately double what you're making now, with more regular hours, as well as better benefits. Same would go for your husband, if he was so inclined to work for us as well.”

She blinked at him. “Are you shitting me?”

He smirked again, and she was beginning to wonder just how many expressions he could make. She suspected he'd do a fabulous angry, but probably not many things on the other side of 'remotely amused'.

“Does this look like my shitting face Mrs Higgins?”

No, she decided. No it didn't.

 


	2. New York

That was how she found herself in New York less than two weeks later. It had been a whirlwind period of activity. She'd stayed up most of the night after the man left her flat, going over the conversation and waiting for Ronald to get home. After she'd gotten him to believe her, which didn't take much after she showed him the business card and told him the starting salary, their phone rang.

“Thank fuck,” the voice said, and Miranda had to lift the phone away from her ear for a minute and stare at it. She should have been asking how he got their number, but considering he'd broken into their flat, it was probably somewhere around the difficulty equivalent of her tying her shoes.

When she lifted the phone back to her ear, the man was speaking to someone else. “We've got her,” he said, with obvious relief, and were those cheers in the background?

“How the hell did you know that?” she demanded. “Did you seriously bug my flat?”

She could practically hear him rolling his eye. “Yes. Problem?” he said, daring her to protest.

She considered it. “Well, since I'm going to be moving out shortly, no, I suppose it's not a huge issue.”

“That's the spirit. Our agents will be in touch. Your workplaces have already been informed, so you don't have to worry about them. I suggest you start packing.”

He hung up without saying goodbye, and Miranda stared at the phone for a moment.

“I'm not sure what we're getting ourselves into,” she told Ron, who'd appeared at her shoulder.

“I like a little adventure in my life,” he said, smiling and hugging her around the waist.

“So do I,” she told him. “But I'm not sure I want _this_ much.”

He laughed at her, and hugged her more tightly.

 

Indeed, their jobs had been taken care of, and the next day an agent showed up at their door.

“Hello,” she said pleasantly, sticking a hand out for them to shake. “I'm Agent Carter. I'm here to assist you with any preparations you need to make for the journey to New York, including packing and shipping possessions, if you wish to take some with you. May I come in?”

Miranda pushed Ron gently out of the way. “Of course. Would you like some tea?”

“That would be lovely.”

 

They sat down in the living room with their cups of tea and planned out their future. Miranda and Ron both agreed that they would want to take some things with them, but otherwise leave the flat as is, for when (if) they came back. The agent seemed nonplussed by that statement, but Miranda suspected she'd long since been trained out of any telling facial expressions.

 

“Do you have any other questions?” she asked, looking up from their completed plans for flights and shipping boxes.

“Actually, yes,” Miranda said, looking at Ron. “I'm just wondering if you know what I'll actually be doing. I mean, Mr Fury told me I'd be working in a medical capacity, but he didn't really specify what I'd be doing.”

“I'm afraid I don't have the details at this time,” she said, smiling apologetically. “I can make a note of it and have someone higher up look into it, but I don't know what else to tell you for now.”

Miranda nodded. She'd expected as much. “Then I think that's it unless Ron...” She glanced at her husband, who shook his head.

Agent Carter stood up. “It was very nice to meet you. Thank you for the tea, and if you do have any other questions, don't hesitate to call.”

She handed them a card almost identical to the one they already had sitting on their kitchen table. The only difference was the name and phone number. Miranda wondered what company made them, because they looked expensive, and if SHIELD was as big as she was beginning to understand it was, then that would be a hell of a lot of money.

 

She didn't say it though, and after the agent had left, she collapsed on the couch, feeling exhausted.

“Are you regretting this yet?” she asked Ron, knowing without looking up that he'd followed her into the room. “Because I think I am.”

He laughed at her, but it wasn't really at her, mostly in acknowledgement that their life seemed to be going in all sorts of crazy directions.

 

And really, it was laugh or cry, and she knew which one she was going to choose when, the next week, they arrived at the airport for their flight to find out that their plane was a private jet, containing only them, their luggage that they hadn't shipped, and two SHIELD agents. One was Agent Carter, who they were familiar with, and the other was Agent Sitwell, who seemed nice enough, even if a bit quiet.

 

New York was... well, Miranda didn't really know how to describe it. It was huge and daunting and full of people, all sorts of them.

Agent Carter had to leave shortly after they arrived at the airport, so it was just them and Agent Sitwell to accompany them to their new flat, or apartment as he referred to it.

They'd gotten to help pick it out, Agent Carter showing them on her tablet multiple flats that SHIELD had deemed suitable for them to live in. They were all close to the SHIELD headquarters, which was apparently important, but their architectural styles were all different. They finally settled on one that was a converted loft, open and airy with lots of light. Miranda didn't want to know how much it cost, because she assumed it was expensive. Their flat in London was bad enough, and it wasn't even downtown or as nice as the one they picked out in New York.

But Mr Fury had said SHIELD would pay for everything, and she figured they may as well get their money's worth.

 

When they arrived, the furniture that they'd send the week before was already in place. Most of their belongings were unpacked and placed into the same spots as they were back in London. It was somewhat unnerving, but Miranda didn't want to stop and think about it. There was still plenty to be done.

 

Agent Sitwell left them shortly after, explaining that the fridge was stocked with food, they had been left American money in case they wanted to do some shopping, and that they would both be picked up in the morning for training.

Miranda was anxious to explore the neighbourhood, but with the time difference and everything that had happened in so few days, she was exhausted. Ron must have felt the same way, because they were both asleep in only minutes, their suitcases sitting, still packed, on the floor.

 


	3. First Day

Miranda woke up when it was still dark out, the time difference messing with her, but she figured it was time she could put to good use, unpacking her suitcase and finding clothes for the day, as well as discovering where the SHIELD agents had put everything from their London flat. Most of it was easily found, except for her shoes, strangely. They were in the bedroom closet. She wondered if this was a New York thing, or an American thing, or maybe just a SHIELD thing.

 

She'd sorted all her clothes out and put them away by the time Ronald started stirring. He always did like to sleep in.

She threw herself on the bed with him. “Wake up sleepyhead,” she declared. “There will be SHIELD agents here to pick us up in an hour and you have terrible bed head.”

He groaned, and tried to bury himself in the covers, but Miranda wasn't having any of that. With a neat flick of her wrists, the blankets were on the floor, Ron nearly following behind them.

“I'm up, I'm up,” he muttered.

“I'd hope so,” Miranda retorted. “If we're late for our first day it won't be a good start.”

 

A junior SHIELD agent knocked on their door promptly at 8:30, and introduced himself as Lucas Fernandez. He led them to the car, which had a small SHIELD symbol on the license plate as well as on the parking pass on the dashboard.

Miranda wasn't sure what she expected, but she didn't think an intelligence agency like SHIELD would so plainly leave out identifying information. (Or maybe it was like the American equivalent of Torchwood, the secret organization that everyone knew about, but still humoured.)

Lucas sped them through the busy streets and deposited them at the doors of a non-descript building that looked like every other office building nearby. The only difference was that there were agents waiting to greet Miranda and Ronald and take them to their training and orientation seminars.

 

“Dr Elijah Leary,” the man introduced himself. “I'm head of the medical division. We're thrilled to have you here.” He smiled shyly at Miranda, and she responded in kind. On her right, Ron was shaking hands with a woman, but she missed the name that was given. “We have a general SHIELD orientation for you, and then you can tour the medical facility in the afternoon. If there's anything you need to know along the way, don't hesitate to ask.”

Miranda nodded, and the man led her into the building. She'd been given an ID card the day before by Agent Carter, with a picture of her that was actually decent, declaring her clearance to be level three

She wasn't sure how far that would get her, but she suspected that there were ten levels, based on Mr Fury's level.

The man led her down an increasing number of hallways, into at least two elevators, and one stairwell. She was never going to be able to find her way around. In fact, she wasn't entirely sure that he knew where he was going. Miranda almost laughed at that, the idea that the head of the medical division was only pretending to know where he was going, and was actually lost.

She didn't ask though, and they ended up there eventually, so who was she to judge?

Eventually they were seated in a boardroom, Dr Leary at her side, a woman she didn't recognize on the other side of the table, and a man in a suit standing by the door.

 

The woman across the table introduced herself as Agent Hill. Miranda sensed that she was important, but she didn't know _where_ on the scale of importance.

Agent Hill explained a bit about SHIELD, gave her a briefing packet about the history of the organization. She got another briefing packet about the medical staff and an actual manual on procedures and rules. Everything, of course, was tailored to her clearance level, which Agent Hill went on to explain.

“Your clearance level can be upped, but this is a good starting point. Your clearance for medical information is much higher, of course, somewhere on par with a level six agent, but you get the level three pass because we can't have you wandering into restricted areas.”

Miranda nodded. She understood that.

Agent Hill excused herself after that, saying she had other places to be, and Dr Leary took over from there, talking about her duties, what she would be expected to do, and her limitations.

“Unless there is a crisis, like the alien invasion that happened recently, you weren't here for that, were you?”

Miranda shook her head.

“Right. Well unless there's something like that, or some other sort of Avengers event, then the medical staff is fairly light. All SHIELD agents are required to have basic first aid, so you won't be getting papercuts and the like. There will be the occasional sparring accident in the gym, sometimes arguments get a bit out of control, and there's the other medical things like allergic reactions and migraines.”

Miranda nodded again. It almost sounded a bit mundane, especially compared to what she was used to.

“But if there is an emergency, or even something small that the Avengers are called you, you can bet that you'll be on duty then, or maybe even called in. In those cases, way more of the medical staff will be in, and we sometimes send out triage teams. You may be a part of that, or you may be staying here, it really depends on where the Avengers are, since they will be your primary patients.”

“Okay, question,” Miranda said, wincing as she cut off the good doctor accidentally. “You keep mentioning these Avengers. Why are they such a big deal? I mean, I've dealt with bad patients before, which is why I was recruited, but... I'm probably going to regret saying this, but how bad can they be?”

Dr Leary blinked at her.

“Well,” he said, choking over the word a little. “A lot of it will be detailed in your briefing packets, but I can give you an overview.”

He laid his hands on the table and took a deep breath to prepare himself. “The Avengers are a team of six people with extraordinary abilities. Some of them are superhuman, some of them aren't even human, and some are just skilled beyond belief. They pretty much single-handedly saved the world not too long ago, and yet despite their genius, they are probably the most irresponsible group of people I've ever met when it comes to their health.”

Dr Leary looked up at her, his eyes haunted.

“One of them, Tony Stark, known as Iron Man, has shrapnel embedded in his chest from an incident in Afghanistan. You know what he did? He miniaturized an arc reactor and installed it in his chest to keep the shrapnel from entering his heart. He is basically an infection waiting to happen. I don't know how he hasn't succumbed to pneumonia or myocarditis by now.” He shook his head. “I honestly don't,” he whispered.

Miranda gave him a moment to get himself together, then stuck a hand up and waited to be called on. “Um, yeah, you know that I'm actually an emergency care practitioner, right? Not like a trauma surgeon or something.”

The man who'd been hovering at the side of the room for the entire hour spoke up.

“Yes, we are aware of that. However, your skill set has been well documented, and we can provide additional training for anything you're not entirely comfortable with. What's more important to us is your demeanour while treating patients.”

“Which is...”

The man smirked, and it looked odd on his face, like he never used it. “Not putting up with any bullshit.”

She nodded, smiling slightly. “I thought that's what you meant.”

“Agent Coulson,” he said, stepping forward and holding his hand out for her to shake.

She took it. “Miranda Higgins, which I suspect you already knew.”

“Your reputation precedes you,” he said, his face completely straight now. “Although I have to admit, you're going to have to live up to that reputation. Once things get started on a SHIELD base, they sort of... grow.”

Miranda laughed. “You mean everyone is gossiping about me.”

“Yes,” Coulson said wryly. “I believe the time where you treated Sherlock Holmes after he was drugged has turned into you rescuing him from a drug cartel, hauling him out under one arm while shooting with the other.”

Miranda laughed. “I'm never going to be able to live up to that.”

“Oh, I wouldn't say that quite yet,” Coulson noted, with a chill to his voice that almost sounded ominous.

Miranda chose to ignore it, hoping it wouldn't come back to bite her.

(It did, of course. With razor sharp and dagger length teeth.)

 

The rest of the day was spent in the medical wing of SHIELD, which was often shortened by people to just 'medical', some fondly, some out of hatred.

It was fairly large, with a number of different wings, including an entire wing just for quarantine that was capable of holding up to 50 people. She didn't want to think why they'd have to have that, but she wasn't going to ask.

The technology was top of the line, most of it Stark-tech, commissioned specially for SHIELD. They had their own MRI, CT, a number of operating rooms, rehab facilities, and a number of psychiatric offices.

She was impressed.

 

Ronald met up with her at the end of the day, and they were taken home by the same junior agent that brought them to SHIELD in the morning. Miranda wondered what he did all day. Did he just drive people around in the New York traffic? Because she thought London was bad, but New York... well, New York was worse.

Ron told her about his day, learning to field communications from inside and outside SHIELD. He was quickly schooled in what was a prank call, and what was not. The bottom line was that if there was even the slightest possibility it was true, they had to treat it seriously. Which was how she found herself on the back end of a story involving sentient balloons, which thankfully turned out to be false.

She felt her day was far less exciting, which was proven by her ability to stay up an entire hour later than her husband before collapsing into bed, probably to awaken just as early the next morning.

 

 


	4. Second Day & First Week

Again she was awake before the sun was up, and she spent the time reading through the more important briefing packets, namely the one about the Avengers. And wow, Dr Leary hadn't been lying when he said they were irresponsible. Included in the packet was a medical history, one that was as complete as possible, given their limitations (surgery in a cave in Afghanistan didn't leave records, surprisingly) and her clearance level (she didn't understand how Steve Rogers was born in the twenties, but she accepted it, because it was that sort of week).

 

It was like having six of Sherlock Holmes, but with no John Watson to keep them in check.

Although, if she understood correctly, Agent Coulson was the team's handler, and was exceptional at keeping them in line. For her purposes, he would be the John Watson in this comparison. A John Watson that had died in the line of duty, but not stayed dead.

Again, above her clearance level. That sort of week.

 

She resigned herself to not knowing much of anything for at least the next couple of months.

 

The Avengers seemed like a good bunch of people for the most part, six strong personalities that clashed with each other, perhaps with the exception of Stark and Banner, who were both of a scientific disposition and seemed to get on well enough. Then there were Barton and Romanoff, who had been working together for years, and yet still seemed to want to kill each other half of the time.

She really didn't know what to make of Thor. He was from another world, and seemed beyond comprehension.

 

She was still chewing that over when Ronald got up, all through breakfast, and on the ride to SHIELD.

 

She spent the rest of the day in medical again, meeting more people, learning where everything was, and ensuring her skills were compatible with American standards and equipment.

 

She tried reading the SHIELD manual that night, but fell asleep with it on her face, as Ronald ever so kindly took a picture of, and then removed it for her, marking her page, which was totally unnecessary, since she was still in the chapter index.

 

The rest of that week passed in much of the same way, orientation, getting used to the building and hallways, _the never ending hallways_ , meeting more of her coworkers, and getting bumped up to a level four clearance after an incident with the medical files.

 

They were both given the weekend off, which was a rarity, Dr Leary assured them. “Evil doesn't rest,” he told her, deadpan, and she would have believed he was serious, except the day before he spent the better part of their lunch hour trying to talk her into believing that Hawkeye was actually a product of introducing bird genes into a human being. She listened and nodded the entire time, and only when he stood up to dispose of his tray did she tell him that she had access to the medical files, and that he was telling complete bullshit.

He blushed to nearly the colour of his leftover catsup.

 

Miranda and Ronald took full advantage of that rarity, and went to see the sights of New York, including the statue of Liberty and the newly rebuilt Avengers Tower, formerly Stark Tower.

It was a good weekend.

 

* * *

 

 

Her first real week of work involved one sprained ankle of a level five agent who was sparring in the gym, one mild allergic reaction due to a perfume in the office space of a level four IT worker, and an incident involving paintballs between two level one agents, who she mostly glared at and gave a good talking to. And wow, she must be getting old, because they looked like they should still be in high school.

 

“I told you we shouldn't have done it Sam,” the one snapped on his way out.

“Shut up Peter,” the other muttered.

Miranda only shook her head.

 


	5. Clint

Her first encounter with an Avenger was Clint Barton. As far as Avengers go, he's not the most intimidating. He's not Hulk, that's for sure. (Of course, apparently Hulk's alter ego is about as threatening as a little puppy.)

Agent Coulson brought him to medical, leaning on his shoulder, his one ankle in a field splint.

“I'm completely fine,” he insisted.

“Yes,” Agent Coulson replied, “Which is why you can't bear weight on your ankle and are currently leaning on me like a drunk octopus.”

“Have you ever seen a drunk octopus?” Agent Barton countered.

Coulson paused, and turned to stare at him. “That's classified,” he deadpanned.

Agent Barton snorted, but allowed himself to be dumped on a bed, wincing only slightly as his ankle was jarred.

 

Coulson turned his attention to her.

“Miranda, this is Clint Barton, personal pain in my ass. Clint, this is Miranda Higgins. Yes, you can call her Miranda. She is married and your puppy dog eyes will not work on her. Stronger men than you have tried. And yes, she is _that_ Miranda. Good luck,” Agent Coulson said, a faint twinkle in his eyes. With that, he left, leaving Agent Barton gaping after him.

He recovered quickly and turned his attention to Miranda.

“Are you really that Miranda?” he asked reverently.

“I'm not sure what you've heard about me, but yes, I am the one you've been gossiping about. Agent Barton. Clint. Can I call you Clint?” she asked, moving on before he could answer. “I'm going to take this lovely splint off,” she said, sparing a second to look at it, and it was not lovely. It served the purpose, and that was about it. “And then I'm going to get x-rays of your leg. I'm also going to check you out for other injuries, and maybe if you moan a little, I'll give you some of the good pain meds. We'll see. If you behave the entire time, I will give you a lollipop. Sound good?”

Clint blinked at her. “Sorry, I missed... um, well, all of that.”

She blinked right back at him.

“I'm actually mostly deaf,” he offered, waving a hand around his ears. “The one aid died during the fight, some sort of alien interference.” He frowned. “Not sure why it only worked on one of them...” he mused. “But yeah, so I've been supplementing with lip reading, but I wasn't looking, and then there's the whole accent thing, so I missed it all. Repeat it?” he said hopefully.

“How about a summary,” Miranda said. “I'm going to call you Clint. Then I'm going to x-ray your ankle and check you over. If you moan, maybe you can have some pain meds. If you behave the entire time, you can get a lollipop. Got it?”

Clint nodded. “Well. I suppose. Can we skip all of that except for the lollipop?” he asked hopefully.

She smirked. “Not on your life.”

He shrugged. “Worth a try,” he muttered, more to himself than anyone else.

 

Miranda set to work revealing his ankle, which was swollen and bruised and obviously painful. Clint didn't say anything when she touched it, but his shoulders tensed up and his posture stiffened.

She stood back. “You're dehydrated,” she told him, making sure to wait until he looked up at her before she spoke. “I'm going to start an IV.”

He didn't argue, simply offered his arm to her.

She stuck a cannula in his arm with ease and hung a bag of fluids. “While we've got that in, how about some pain meds?” she asked casually. “May as well.”

He nodded, and she checked the chart to make sure he wasn't allergic to anything before pushing the drugs.

He relaxed quite a bit after that, not visibly, but she could tell. He was compliant with x-rays and didn't even complain when she told him if he left the bed she'd break his other leg. (Because yeah, she would bet money on the fact that his ankle was broken. Not surgery broken, but time in a cast no Clint you cannot walk on it broken.)

Lo and behold, he was still there when she returned, ten minutes later. She didn't really have to leave; it was more to test him. And maybe it was the fact that he was drugged, or down to one leg, but he still stayed. And she was sure it had to be more than that, because she'd heard the stories. Agent Barton with a collapsed lung and three broken ribs making it halfway back to his room before getting caught. Agent Barton with a displaced broken clavicle _on his shooting arm no less_ getting all the way back to his room and falling asleep before Agent Coulson tranq'd him and dragged him back to medical.

 

And he'd been drugged all those times, maybe even sedated too, but he hadn't stayed.

 

She didn't delve too deeply into what that meant, but when Agent Coulson came to pick Clint up, his leg in a purple cast he'd decorated with drawings of arrows, happily working on his third lollipop, he congratulated her and gave her ten percent of the betting money he'd won. Apparently he was the only one who thought she could keep him there.

Counting her money later that night, she realized just how many people she'd proven wrong.

 

One Avenger down, five to go.

 


	6. Steve

The next Avenger she met, surprisingly, was Captain America himself. Steve Rogers, the man who was born in the twenties, yet looked not a day over 25. It was certainly a mystery, and one that her clearance level wasn't going to allow her to solve.

 

He'd appeared in medical of his own volition, although he seemed hesitant to stay.

“Hello... Miss Higgins?”

“Miranda,” she corrected. “You can call me Miranda.”

He smiled, and it was the sort of smile that she imagined could end wars and make babies stop crying. The sort that made people fall head over heels, nod at him and agree to anything, because how could you resist a smile that pure and genuine and American?

 

Well, her for one. Thank goodness she wasn't American, otherwise she might not have had a chance.

“What are you doing here Captain Rogers?”

“Steve, please.”

“Steve. What are you doing here?”

He smiled at her again, and just no, that smile was not going to be getting him anywhere. She would make sure of that.

“Well, we were fighting some sort of rock creatures, they're all taken care of now,” he assured her, like she was concerned about that. “And the one got in a pretty good hit before Iron Man took it down. I thought it would be better to be safe than sorry...” he trailed off.

“And?” Miranda prompted, because she knew that look. It was the look of someone about to bolt.

“But you seem... busy,” he said finally, glancing around medical and wincing. She knew why. There were maybe five people being treated in a facility that could easily hold fifty.

“Captain Rogers,” she said disapprovingly, taking him by the arm.

“Steve,” he corrected, hiding his wince pretty well. Served him right.

“Steve,” she continued, leading him to a bed. “You are going to sit your all American arse down right now and let me look at you.”

“Yes ma'am,” he agreed. She liked that. Maybe not the ma'am part, but she liked him agreeing with her.

“Now, where did you get hit?” she asked him, looking his suit up and down for some sort of zipper or something. How on earth did he get into that thing?

“Stomach,” he told her, gesturing to his entire abdominal area. “They... It had very big fist things.”

“Right,” she said, giving up on the suit. She spoke louder as she walked away from him to the supply closet. “You're going to have to take that suit off... and put these on instead,” she continued, tossing the scrubs she'd taken from the closet at him. She pulled the curtain around the bed closed with one good yank. “You can take that off, right?” she added, hovering outside the curtain.

“Yes ma'am.”

She nodded her approval, even though he couldn't see it, and waited for him to summon her back in.

 

She was greeted with a rattle of the curtain, and there was Captain America, no longer in his star spangled suit of glory, but instead, SHIELD issued blue scrubs. He looked just as fine, a thought that she pushed out of her head as soon as it entered.

“Excellent,” she declared, motioning for him to lie down. He obeyed, and she lifted the shirt up to see his stomach. It was bruised deep purple and blue, looking exquisitely painful.

She winced for his sake. “Ouch,” she muttered, not wanting to touch it. “When did this happen?”

“Half an hour ago?” Steve offered. “It probably looks worse than it is. The serum speeds everything up, including bruising.”

She raised an eyebrow at the mention of serum, but that was most certainly above her clearance level. There obviously had to be something that kept Steve alive and looking so young for nearly seventy years, considering his relative age and birthdate, but she hadn't a clue what it could be. This serum was probably the key.

Miranda sighed. It was the worst not having all the information about a patient's medical history because it was classified under a different government than her own that she didn't have the foggiest clue to how it was run. Although to be fair, she suspected the Americans didn't know much more than she did about how it ran, but it was the principle.

“Doesn't it hurt?” she asked, examining his face in case he wanted to lie about it.

“Yes,” he admitted. “But I've had worse, and pain medications don't work well on me, so I can deal with it. It won't be for long.”

She nodded. There was no arguing with that. This state of bruising shouldn't be evident yet, not for something that happened half an hour ago, so it made sense that the pain would come and go just as rapidly.

“I'd like to get an ultrasound,” she told him. “To see if there's any internal bleeding.” She frowned. “Which would probably clear up on its own anyway.”

She paused, rubbing a hand over her face.

“I need to yell at Fury, or Coulson or someone,” she muttered. “This is ridiculous.”

“What's that?” Steve asked.

She gestured to him. “You. I don't have any clue about how you work, baselines for vitals, how you heal, hell, if your organs are even the same as anyone else's...” she sighed. “None of which is your fault.”

He sat up a little straighter. “You mean you don't know? Well, I mean nobody really knows, but they know some of that at least. They haven't given you access to those files?”

She shook her head.

Steve frowned, and it was the kind of face that could make people cry and criminals turn themselves in. Again, she thanked her lucky stars that she was (mostly) immune to him. “Well that's stupid. How are you expected to treat people if you don't have their medical histories?”

She couldn't agree more, but she simply shrugged.

“I'll tell you,” Steve said solemnly.

She grinned at him. “You're a lovely boy,” she told him, patting him on the arm before leaving to grab the ultrasound.

 

While she rubbed gel over his abdomen and pressed slightly too hard against bruised skin, he explained how he came to be, about the war, about how he was too small, too weak, too sick. He explained about Howard Stark and the machine and the serum. He explained about how he was different after, bigger, stronger, about how he rescued his friend and lost him again. He told her about the plane and the ice, and waking up in the future where nothing was familiar.

 

She finished the ultrasound somewhere around meeting Peggy, but didn't stop. She'd found a liver laceration that was the cause of most of the internal bleeding, and watched distractedly as it shrank before her eyes. By the time Steve got to the train, it was half the size it had been when she found it, and by the time he got to his awakening, it was nearly gone.

 

When he finally finished up, the liver laceration was gone, the bruising had faded to ugly yellows and greens, and Steve seemed exhausted. Whether it was from reliving all those experiences, or from healing, she couldn't be sure.

 

She wiped up the gel and tugged the shirt back down.

“You're doing fine,” she told him softly. “But you need to rest. You're staying here tonight so I can keep an eye on you. Don't even bother to argue, because I will win.”

He smiled at her, but his eyelids were drooping.

“I'll discharge you in the morning,” she said, patting him on the shoulder, and he nodded slightly before closing his eyes.

 

When she returned in the morning, Steve still hadn't woken up, proof that his body was indeed recovering and needed the rest.

 

When he did wake up, mid-morning, he thanked her for helping him, and they both knew he didn't mean for the ultrasound.

 

Her clearance level went up again, and no one told her why.

 


	7. Tony

Her first encounter with Tony Stark was not under war-like conditions, which was what some of the other staff was betting. (She wasn't allowed to participate, since she was the subject of the bet, and also not supposed to know about it.)

In fact, he only had minor injuries, and only ended up in medical because Thor, _the god of thunder himself,_ dropped Tony off, and left him there.

There may have been some threats involved; she heard mentions of pop-tarts.

 

He tried to talk his way out of it, but if that worked on her she wouldn't be in New York.

“I'm fine,” he insisted, and he was so convincing that she almost would have believed him if it wasn't for the blood staining through his shirt.

“Nice try,” she told him. “But you're not going to be let out of here until I get a look at those cuts.”

Mr Stark glared at her, but made no motion to sit down or behave.

“Sit your ass down on that bed,” she ordered, “Or I will get Agent Barton to shoot you with an arrow loaded with a sedative.”

Stark frowned at her threat. “I'm pretty sure you can't do that,” he pointed out. “Aren't there rules about that sort of thing?”

Miranda shrugged. “The only thing I know I'm not allowed to do is kill the patients. Director Fury was very clear on that. Otherwise, it's a grey area. Are you comfortable with grey areas?” she asked him, staring into his eyes innocently.

Stark swallowed. “Not so much right now,” he muttered, looking away.

“That's what I thought,” she said kindly, patting him on the shoulder. “Now take your shirt off.”

“Not even gonna buy me dinner first?”

“I'm married,” she replied.

He scoffed at her. “Like that's stopping us,” he said, beaming up at her.

Miranda liked him. She also sort of hated him, but it was in a good way.

 

She watched him take his shirt off, moaning and keeping up a stream of jokes the entire time, all while keeping that brilliant smile.

“You don't have to pretend for my sake,” she told him quietly, adjusting her gloves and examining the lacerations on his ribs. They weren't very deep, and wouldn't require stitches. They would need to be cleaned and dressed, since they were caused by... well, her clearance level wasn't high enough to know exactly what they were fighting, but they looked like robots on the news, so that's what she was going with. She very pointedly did not touch the arc reactor, or even go near it.

Tony didn't say anything to that, but he did stop talking, and relaxed marginally under her hands.

“I'm breaking out the saline,” she told him. “It's going to sting, so don't whine about it, you big baby.”

He feigned shock, but grinned at her.

“I can handle it,” he told her. “I've handled a lot worse.”

There was an undertone to that second statement, disguised by the quip, but she could still feel it, something horrible and raw, and she didn't blame him for covering it up.

“I'd offer to let you hold my hand, but I'm using it,” she said evenly.

He smiled at that, but didn't respond.

 

The notes in his file, most of which were blacked out, read that Tony was very cautious about his arc reactor, for obvious reasons. It also mentioned that he didn't like to be touched near it, or have anyone look at it, really. There were people to contact if an emergency arose that involved the reactor, but the list was short, and none of them were actually on the SHIELD medical staff, or even medical staff anywhere.

 

She eyed the scar tissue surrounding it before speaking again.

“I know it has to hurt. How bad is it?”

“Oh, not so bad today,” he said casually, and she read between his words. _Today's not bad, but some days are._

“One to ten?” she offered, knowing he'd be intimately familiar with the pain scale.

“Maybe a three.”

She nodded. “Is that normal?”

He smiled halfway at her, but it died on his lips. “Today's a good day,” he told her quietly.

She nodded, and reached for the gauze.

 

A few minutes later and Tony's wounds were all dressed, and yes, he was Tony now. She wasn't sure how he got from being Iron Man, then to Stark, and now to Tony, but it had happened.

 

As Tony got up to go, something prompted her to open her mouth. “If you ever need anything-” she began, but Tony interrupted.

“I know where to find you.”

She raised an eyebrow.

“Yes, even at home. I'm a genius, what can I say?” He shrugged amicably, and tilted his head at her in response.

She watched his retreating figure until he turned a corner, then went back to clean up.

 

Oh _hell,_ she was getting attached to them already.

 


	8. Hulk

Her first run in with Dr Banner was not with Dr Banner, but rather his alter ego, The Hulk.

Needless to say, she was fucking terrified.

 

He sort of just appeared in medical, which was odd, because someone that large should make noise, and shouldn't be able to sneak up on a group of SHIELD agents, but it still happened. She was quite proud of herself for not completely freaking the fuck out, but instead just panicking quietly, while everyone else seemed to take it more or less in stride. (She knew they didn't, because she knew the look that panicked animals got, but they did an excellent job of disguising it as busy-ness.)

 

Despite the fact that Hulk didn't do anything, or go near anyone (probably because they scurried away just as soon as he approached) she was still freaking out by the time he shrunk down into his other self, a pale naked scientist.

Two nurses gave him a gown and helped him to a bed, where he slept for a number of hours, while two men with high powered rifles sat guard.

She wasn't sure which was more unsettling. The idea that this man could turn into something so frightening, or the idea that those men would as soon shoot him as let him do it.

 


	9. Tony... again

 It was tiring and often thankless work, but it always gave her a sense of accomplishment when she saw Tony Stark sleeping in a bed, or Agent Barton getting properly stitched up. Unfortunately, word of her medical prowess seemed to spread fast throughout the SHIELD ranks, and they stopped betting against her, which she was slightly disappointed about. It wasn't that she needed the money, since her new job paid very well, but it was more about Agent Coulson showing up, and with that wry little smile on his face, handing her the share of money.

 

It was moments like those that she reminded herself of during the not as fun moments, like when she was fighting Tony.

 

“You are hurt,” she told him firmly. He was still half in the armour, and did not seem like he was going to get out of it any time soon. “Do I need to call Steve to extract you, or are you going to do it yourself?”

He narrowed his eyes at her. “You're on a first name basis with Captain America?”

“Yes,” she said loftily. “We also have tea once a week, barring any alien invasions or the like.”

He considered that. “You're lying.”

“You'll never know,” she replied. “Don't change the subject. Armour off.”

He smirked at her, but began removing the armour with shaky fingers. She helped where she could, loosening plates and setting them aside.

“I normally have robots for this,” he told her.

“I imagine you have robots for everything,” she agreed.

He began to laugh, but winced, and quickly stopped.

She frowned at him, and worked faster. Soon the chestplate was entirely off, and she could palpate his ribs.

 

“Broken,” she pronounced as he hissed at her. “You have two cracked ribs. You really can't have broken ribs. Your respiratory system is compromised as it is. Deep breaths,” she ordered, placing a probe on his finger and holding her stethoscope to his back.

“Cold,” he whined.

“Deep breaths,” she repeated, and he obeyed, wincing again as he did.

She slipped her stethoscope back around her neck. “No fluid in your lungs, not yet anyway, but it sure as hell won't stay that way if you're breathing shallowly.”

“I don't like things that hurt,” Tony noted. “It seems best to avoid them.”

“Right,” Miranda muttered. She moved on to check the rest of Tony, and paused when she came across his knee. “Why didn't you mention this? It's dislocated, you clot.”

“What the hell is a clot?” Tony muttered.

“An idiot. Like you,” Miranda told him. “I'm going to have to put it back in position.”

Tony winced. “That's going to hurt. Do I get the good drugs for that?”

She sighed. “I suppose so.”

He grinned at her. “Yay.”

 

She shook her head, and set about poking an IV into Tony's arm.

“Ouch,” he said without feeling.

She rolled her eyes at him, and hung saline before injecting the drugs.

Lines around Tony's eyes that she hadn't even realized were there, relaxed. His breathing slowed and deepened.

 

“This is good,” he said slowly.

“You're not going to be thinking that for too much longer,” she noted.

His head popped up at that. “Whasat supposed to mean?”

She yanked on his knee, popping it back into place, and the noise he made was almost a screech.

“I hate you,” he gasped, settling back down into the pillow, but his heart wasn't in it.

“I know,” Miranda said cheerfully. “Hang on, I bet you'll love me in a minute.” She returned with an extra pillow and some ice. She carefully propped his knee up and settled the ice around it, and Tony sighed with contentment.

When she moved to check his ribs again, he caught her arm. “You're right,” he sighed. “I do kind of love you again.”

She smiled endearingly at him. “I know.”

“I want one,” he announced to the room at large. “Can I keep you?” he asked.

“I believe you've already asked that,” Miranda said, removing his hand from her arm gently. “How about we talk this over when you are not high on pain medications, hmm?”

“You're no fun,” he pouted. “Just like Pep.”

“I think Pepper and I would get on very well,” Miranda noted, pulling up the rail on the bed so Tony couldn't escape as easily.

 

“Jarvis, make a note,” he muttered, his eyes already closed. “I want to keep her.”

Miranda would have sent him for a head scan for that, talking to people who weren't there, but the phone on his bedside table spoke back to him.

“Of course sir,” it said softly. The voice on the other end was male and British.

“Ah no,” she said. “You're going to have to hang that up.”

Tony stuck his tongue out at her, but told the phone to turn off, and it obeyed.

“Voice activation,” he muttered. “I'm a genius, remember?”

“Of course,” she said, humouring him. “But even a genius needs his sleep.” She patted him on the arm, hoping the answer would placate him for now.

It did, thank goodness.

 

Tony fell asleep, and she nearly forgot about the conversation when she went home that night.

The mysterious Jarvis, and thus Tony, had not forgotten though, which she was reminded of as soon as she arrived back at work the next morning.


	10. Job Offer, Redux

Coulson was waiting to greet her. “Mrs Higgins,” he said amicably.

“Agent Coulson,” she responded.

“You're wanted in a meeting with the director.”

The first thought that ran through her head was _oh god what have I done did I kill someone are they going to kill me now I should never have left London._ Her second thought was _isn't Fury the director?_

She'd been getting the hang of finding her way through SHIELD, but Agent Coulson took her through hallways she'd never noticed before, until she was thoroughly lost. Maybe that was part of the plan to kill her. No one would ever find her in there.

 

But they actually arrived at an office, and she was told in no simple terms to 'sit her ass down' in a chair, and the Director sat across from her, looking huge and angry, which to be fair was sort of his normal state. Coulson hung back at the side of the room.

 

Director Fury opened a folder and pulled out a number of sheets of paper. He folded his fingers under his chin and stared at her. “Miss Potts has sent over a job contract. Apparently Tony Stark wants you to work for him.”

“I thought he was joking,” she said weakly.

Fury glared at her. “That's the thing about Tony. When you think he's joking, he's dead serious.”

“Bullocks,” she muttered. She was hoping the whole thing would blow over as a result of drug induced delusion, and that the world would return to normal in the morning. It wasn't meant to be.

Fury continued without noticing, or perhaps ignoring, her panic. “This would be a different sort of position. You'd be on call 24/7 for any sort of emergency, ranging from explosions to illnesses. You'll have the full use of the SHIELD facilities at your disposal, although I understand Stark has an extensive collection of medical equipment. Completely justified. You've seen his medical history.”

She nodded. _Most of it anyway._

“Your clearance would have to go up, just because of where you'd be working, but you were well on your way there already.” He sighed. “I just don't like the idea of Stark stealing you from us, after all we've done to get you here.”

Miranda looked to Agent Coulson, who hadn't said anything yet.

Coulson considered it. “Actually, this could work even better,” he said thoughtfully. “Having you under the same roof as all of the Avengers would save time. And because they tend to run off after battles instead of going to medical, this could ensure they actually got looked at by someone with real medical training. Dr Banner has been doing that, but he was trained in physics, not medicine,” he added.

Fury glared at Coulson, who didn't so much as flinch. Miranda wondered if that took special training, or if the man was simply born fearless. She didn't dare ask.

“Fine,” he growled finally. “You will be hired by Stark to be the live in Avengers doctor. But you still work for SHIELD and report back to us. Think of it as an undercover mission.”

“So... I'm moving in?” she asked, remembering the whole 'under the same roof' thing. “Because I really like the flat I'm in now. So does Ron. What about Ron?”

“Stark has more than enough room for both of you. Believe me, it'll be nicer than your apartment now. And he's got an English butler. You'll feel right at home,” Fury smirked, and Miranda couldn't help but feel like there was something he wasn't telling her.

“Alright then,” she conceded. “I'll move there, and work for Tony I guess.”

Fury snorted, and she looked up at him. “What?” she asked.

Coulson explained. “Tony doesn't actually run things anymore. He signed over his company to his former personal assistant, Pepper Potts. She's the CEO. He technically still owns it, but he'd give Pepper the world if she asked. We thank whatever various gods we do or don't believe in every day that she doesn't ask.”

Right. Miranda nodded, just trying to wrap her head around that. “So I'll work for this Pepper person, but I'm supposed to let Tony think he's in charge?”

Fury nodded, snorting. “You'll get used to it.”

 

Coulson pulled out the paperwork that she didn't really read, because the man really loved his paperwork. She had to sign a lot of things, and suspected that she may have sacrificed the first born she was never going to have to some sort of alien being they kept in the basement.

 

When she checked her phone after the meeting, she noticed a text that she'd received during the meeting. It told her that everything was being taken care of, signed TS.

She wasn't surprised that Tony was already taking care of everything, although it was slightly unnerving that he was watching them, even now. Which meant the undercover still working for SHIELD thing was mostly out the window.

Oh well.

 

So that was how she ended up being stolen from SHIELD, and going to work for Tony Stark. Well, she was technically working for Pepper Potts, who was the CEO of Stark Industries, but Tony certainly thought he was the boss, which was nice for him, really.

 


	11. Avengers Tower

Moving in was an entirely different matter.

 

True to his word, Tony had taken care of everything. Of course, she didn't expect that he meant _right at that moment,_ because when they arrived home, thanks to Lucas, bless him, their furniture was gone, and the flat was empty.

“So you know how I was telling you that I'm working in the Avengers Tower now?” Miranda sighed.

“Yes...” Ron said slowly.

“Well we were going to move in there. Apparently... we're moving in now.”

Ron blinked at the empty flat. “I'll go see if Lucas is still here,” he muttered.

 

Miranda took a minute to check in all the closets, just in case Tony's people missed something, then headed outside to where Ron was.

 

“Good news and bad news,” he said. “Bad news, Lucas is no longer here. Good news, Tony sent a ride for us.”

He pointed to the sleek car parked at the kerb.

“Oh,” she managed. Her husband nodded.

“Happy Hogan,” a man said, appearing at her side, holding out a hand for her to shake. “I work for Tony Stark. Sorry about the miscommunication earlier. Tony is... really bad about that sort of thing.”

Miranda shook her head, grasping the man's hand. What an odd name. “It's... fine. I've met Tony.”

Happy laughed, and opened the door for her and Ron.

 

Happy's driving was only slightly less frightening than Lucas, but even more effective. They made it to the Avengers Tower in a short period of time, despite there still being minor damage to the city from the recent alien attack.

“Mr Stark helped clean up a great deal of the damage,” Happy explained. “The Iron Man suit can lift heavy things, and he has a number of tools that helped removed wreckage and rebuild. Of course, his generous donations were also a big help.”

“And before Thor had to go back to Asgard, he was fantastic,” Happy continued, swerving around a bus that had pulled over. “His hammer can actually be used for hammering, it turns out.”

“Has Thor come back from there yet?” Miranda asked, clutching at Ron's hand for the sake of her nerves.

Happy shook his head. “He took his brother Loki back, he's the one responsible for the whole alien invasion thing, and it could be a while before he comes back. Tony said something about a trial, not that he was listening. He's returned for short periods of time when he was needed, but for the most part, the other Avengers can handle things on their own. But when Thor does come back, he'll probably be living here with everyone else.”

Either he'd practiced that speech a lot, or was just driving around the block to kill time, because the man pulled up at the base of a tall building just as he said that.

He scurried around to open the door for them.

“Welcome to Avengers Tower,” he said.

 

Miranda tried not to gape at it, she really did, but she couldn't help it. Even with it in less than perfect condition, thanks to the recent battle, it was still a marvel.

Only the A of STARK remained, and she'd heard rumours that it would be renamed AVENGERS, so good job on the aliens for leaving the one letter.

Happy led them into the lobby of the building, where there was security abound. It made sense, given that Tony was one of the richest people... in the country maybe? She wasn't sure. But he was also Iron Man, so all the security seemed unnecessary. She pushed the thought out of her mind and focused on the details, the elegant tiles that made up the floor, and the plush armchairs that formed waiting area.

Happy led them into the lift.

 

“Welcome, Mr and Mrs Higgins,” a familiar voice said. It took her a minute to place it, but it was the same British man who Tony had been speaking on the phone with. What was his name? Miranda glanced around. And more importantly, where the hell was he?

“That's Jarvis,” Happy explained. “He's the butler.”

Miranda frowned. “Where... is he?”

Happy looked shocked for a second, then laughed. “Of course Tony didn't tell you. He's not real. I mean, he is real, of course, but he doesn't have a physical presence.”

Miranda was only more confused by that.

“Perhaps I should explain,” the voice interrupted. “I do not have a physical presence because I am an artificial intelligence.”

“Oh,” Miranda sighed with understanding.

 


	12. Tour

They arrived on whatever floor they were going to, and that was when Tony appeared to explain and give them a tour. Miranda was relieved to see he was actually using the crutches he'd been given, and was still wearing the knee brace.

The Jarvis that Tony was on the phone with was not a person, but the English butler that Fury had been talking about. Who was, it turned out, actually a computer.

“No, no,” Tony insisted. “He's not a computer. He's an artificial intelligence. AI. He's housed in computers, but he's not just a computer.”

Miranda looked around suspiciously. “Okay,” she said finally, dragging Ron along by the arm. He'd gotten distracted with examining something, and Tony was about to leave them behind.

 

“These will be your quarters,” he told them, when the lift let them out on a ridiculously high floor.

“What will?” Ron asked, and Tony shot him a glance.

“This,” he repeated, gesturing around him. Miranda glanced at what he was pointing to. There was a living room, and she could spot a dining room through an archway. There was a hallway that she suspected housed bedrooms, and bathrooms, and a kitchen on the other side of the dining room.

“The whole floor?” Ron asked, trying to wrap his head around it. Miranda was awed indeed. It was a step up from the flat that SHIELD had provided for them, and about ten steps up from their flat in London. She was feeling quite spoiled.

“Um, yeah, duh,” Tony said. “There are two of you. Everyone else is just one person to a floor. Why, does it not work? This was just what I had. I can redesign it if you want, make it work better for you-”

“Tony,” Miranda said firmly, interrupting the rambling. Tony rambled when he didn't know what else to say, and (he would deny if asked) when he was nervous. “This is perfect. Thank you.”

Tony stumbled over his words, but recovered quickly. “Of course it is. Anyway, you've got your kitchen over here...” he walked away faster than anyone on crutches should be able to, and they had to jog to catch up as Tony continued on the tour.

 

It didn't end at their floor. Miranda left Ron behind when Tony took her to the medical floor, which was just below all the living quarters. It was just as equipped as SHIELD, albeit smaller, since it was really only meant for treating six people, and not an entire organization.

He pointed out all of the latest tech, bragging in a roundabout way, and Miranda admired everything accordingly. Tony also pointed her to the most updated medical files he had on all of the Avengers, which no doubt involved hacking, government secrets, and a number of illegal methods. Of course, she could deny any knowledge of that if pressed, and she was thankful. Like Steve had said, it was nearly impossible to treat someone if you didn't know their history, and the Avengers had very interesting histories indeed.

 

He also took her to the communal floor where most of them spent a good portion of their time, the gym, the shooting range where Clint practically lived (or so Tony claimed), the pool, a number of labs and workshops, as well as a garage that held an impressive collection of cars.

 

Her definite favourite was Tony's workshop, where she met his children. His children being robots with limited intelligence that were completely and utterly adorable, who he spoke to with an exasperated fondness.

“Dum-E, no she is not on fire, you cannot spray her.”

Miranda crouched down next to the robot, apparently named Dum-E, who was brandishing a fire extinguisher like its life depending on it.

“Guys, this is Miranda. She's nice, so let's try to not kill her, okay?” Tony turned his attention to Miranda. “Okay, rule one of the workshop. Never ever accept anything food related that they make for you. Ever. I learned that lesson the hard way. U made me a smoothie with motor oil once.” He made a disgusted face. “Not good.”

“I did?” she asked, confused.

“No, my robot U. Like, the letter. See, look, he has his name written on him and everything.”

Tony pointed it out to her, and indeed he did. She also made a note of his pronoun usage. Apparently his robots were male.

The tour seemed to end there, because Tony got distracted with something that Butterfingers did. (She really had to find out where those names came from, because none of them were very flattering.)

She excused herself, and he barely waved a hand at her, and Jarvis helped her back to her floor.

 

 


	13. Natasha

She didn't formally meet (and when she said meet, she meant treat) the only female Avenger on the team until Agent Coulson dropped her off after a run in with larger than usual, but not giant, reptiles. Agent Romanoff didn't look visibly injured, but if Coulson had brought her in, there must have been a good reason for it, especially considering that Miranda hadn't met her yet, even with her being human. She'd met the man with the benefits of the super soldier serum (which was technically above her clearance level, but Steve liked to talk) but not yet met the other human member of the team.

“Miranda,” Coulson greeted her, leading Agent Romanoff to a bed and making sure she sat on it, legs dangling off the edge.

“Agent Coulson,” she responded. “Agent Romanoff.”

The woman on the bed didn't correct her.

“Agent Romanoff has sustained a number of lacerations and bites from the... various reptiles.”

“Mostly snake bites,” she noted without looking up. “None of them appeared to be venomous.”

Coulson continued with a bland smile. “Thankfully. But she still need to be checked over, and she's been favouring her right side.”

The woman's glance shot up at Coulson, who didn't say anything. Apparently she thought it wasn't noticeable.

Agent Coulson said something to her in a language she didn't recognize, but it was definitely European, with harsh tones. She retorted, her tone just as biting, but nodded at him, and he left.

Miranda smiled at her. “Hello,” she said. “I'm Miranda.”

Agent Romanoff surveyed her, looking her up and down. She'd seen that before, but it seemed so long ago, in another life even. The agent didn't say anything though.

“Natasha,” she said finally, and Miranda felt like she'd passed some sort of test.

“Natasha,” Miranda said, smiling. “Snake bites?”

She nodded, rolling her eyes. “Apparently snakes are hard to shoot, even if they're larger than normal,” she said loudly, and an offended noise came from the ceiling.

“Clint Barton!” Miranda bellowed. “Get your arse out of those vents before I climb up there and drag you out myself.”

The bit of plastic that held the ink in a pen shot past her head, narrowly missing her ear, which she knew was on purpose. If Barton wanted to hit her, he would have.

“And I will tell Coulson you're making crossbows out of office supplies again.”

There was a scuffling sound that faded as Clint scurried away from medical.

Miranda turned her attention back to Natasha. “How did you know he was up there?”

Natasha snorted. “He's like a puppy. He follows me around, especially after a fight to make sure I'm okay. He'd never admit it, of course, but it's true.” She examined Miranda. “You're one of the only people who can make him leave though. He likes you.”

Miranda was stupidly pleased with herself for that.

“I did give him lollipops for behaving,” she mused.

Natasha nodded. “Food works well.”

Miranda surveyed Natasha's outfit. “Can you put a gown on for me? That suit doesn't look like it has any leeway. How do you even fight in that thing?”

Natasha tilted her head. “It's stretchier than it looks, but yes, I can take it off.”

 

Miranda fetched her a gown and waited for Natasha to change, standing guard outside the curtain so she couldn't escape.

But it was taking her an awfully long time to change, even with all the wriggling she probably had to do to get out of the suit.

“Natasha?” she called. No response. “Unless you tell me not to, I'm coming in.” There was no response, and Miranda swore, but pushed the curtain aside. There was no one there.

“Well hell,” she muttered. “Jarvis?”

“Agent Romanoff climbed into the air vent approximately 3 minutes ago.” He sounded apologetic.

Miranda rubbed her head. “Can you track her?”

“I can use heat signatures to locate people inside the vents, yes.”

“Please.”

A beat before Jarvis spoke again. “There are two heat signatures in the vent system currently, next to each other. They are currently in what Mr Stark calls Agent Barton's nest. It is a wider area of the vent system that contains blankets and pillows. Based on vital signs, both people in this area appear to be sleeping.”

“Natasha and Clint are sleeping in the vents?” Miranda mused.

“I cannot say for certain, but it appears to be them.”

“Well I guess I'm going to have to go to them,” she decided. “Let me know if they move.”

 

She busied herself with setting up a small first aid kit, grabbing sutures, saline, needles, gauze, local anaesthetic, and some other necessities. After considering it, she grabs two puddings from the fridge and snagged spoons from the staff kitchen. She stuffed it all into a bag, and set off to where Jarvis told her the easiest access would be.

Miranda stared up at the maintenance shaft. “You're sure Jarvis?”

“Indeed. There are a number of other ways to get into the vents, but seeing as how it's your first time, this is the easiest, and on the same floor as the heat signatures. You just have to follow the instructions, as I won't be able to communicate with you while you're in there.”

“Right,” she said, trying to reassure herself. It wasn't working. “If I'm not out in a couple of hours, could you, I don't know, send in a search part or something?”

“Of course,” Jarvis agreed, probably just to humour her.

 

With that assurance, she set off.

The lighting was dim at best, and she wondered why exactly Tony Stark had felt the need to put emergency lighting inside the vents, but she figured it was one of those things that you didn't ask about. They were cleaner than she expected, which probably had something to do with the various people crawling around in them.

It was only a couple of turns until she came upon the so called 'nest'. Natasha was curled up, fast asleep, and Clint was at her side, glaring at Miranda. She waved.

Oddly enough, he waved back. Natasha wasn't in the gown, but she wasn't wearing her black suit either. Instead she was wearing track pants and a loose shirt. Miranda didn't want to know if she'd stopped to change, or if she actually kept clothes in the vents, which she wouldn't rule out.

Clint tapped Natasha on the arm and whispered something in her ear. Her eyes snapped open, but she didn't attack, which was nice. Miranda may have been slightly paranoid, but she'd heard tales of both of them attacking when woken up suddenly. And she really didn't want to die in an air vent.

 

Natasha glared at her. “What are you doing here?” she hissed.

Miranda shrugged. “You left. I wasn't done.”

Natasha narrowed her eyes. “So you came up here? How did you even know where I was?”

“Jarvis helped. He told me you went into the vents, and he told me there were two heat signatures here. I extrapolated.”

Natasha shot a look at Clint. “You never mentioned that,” she muttered.

“I didn't know,” he protested. “But really, do you think there's anything Tony can't do? It's his house, his AI. He basically rules the world, Nat.”

Miranda held up her first aid kit. “Sorry to interrupt your... nap or whatever, but I would like to look at those snake bites.”

Natasha rolled her eyes.

“She did climb all the way up here,” Clint pointed out. “That's dedication.”

“Fine,” Natasha sighed. She held her arms out. “Most of them are on extremities. There's only one on my chest, and one on my back.”

Miranda delegated the flashlight to Clint, and he obediently pointed it where she told him to.

 

In the end, only two of the bites needed stitching, and the rest she only cleaned out and bandaged up. Natasha watched her intently the entire time, while still resting her head on a pillow. Natasha told her the ribs were only bruised, not broken, and she had to trust that she wasn't lying.

Miranda left the two of them with the puddings and an order to Natasha to take it easy.

 

When she asked Jarvis how they were doing later, he reported that they were both asleep in the nest.

For some reason, that image was immeasurably pleasing.

 


	14. Bruce

Her first actual encounter with Bruce Banner was not by his doing, but hers. She had Jarvis keep track of everyone, and had him let her know when any of them were getting sick, so she could hope to head it off before it got too far.

The first time that Jarvis actually told her someone was displaying symptoms of being ill, it was a few weeks into her living at the Tower, and she still hadn't formally met everyone else who was living there. Thor technically didn't live there, yet anyway, since he was home on Asgard to take care of things.

She sort of suspected the first person to get sick would be Tony, but she was surprised to find that it was in fact, Bruce Banner, who she still hadn't met.

She steeled herself for the challenge.

“Where is he Jarvis,” she asked, fingers crossed it was somewhere not terrifying.

“In his lab, working.”

Okay. She could deal with that. “And what are the odds that he gets really mad and decides to smash me instead of lying down for a rest?”

Jarvis considered it. “Extremely minimal. I can have Mr Stark on standby in his suit if you're concerned for your safety.”

“No,” she said quickly. “I trust him. I think. I mean, Tony trusts him, right?”

“Completely,” Jarvis agreed.

“Okay,” she said, taking a few calming breaths before heading into the lift to retrieve her patient.

 

* * *

 

“You mister, are sick,” she announced, standing in the doorway of his lab, hands on her hips.

The scientist blearily looked up from whatever he was doing to look at her.

“Who are you?” he asked, blinking a couple of times.

“Miranda Higgins. I'm apparently the live in babysitter, since your computer doesn't have hands. Technically I'm an emergency care practitioner. I did work for SHIELD, but then Tony decided he wanted to keep me, and here I am.”

He blinked again, but it didn't seem like he was going to offer any sort of response.

“Which brings me back to my first point, which is you are sick. So let's go. March,” she demanded, pointing to the door.

Dumbfounded, he got up from his stool and stumbled towards the door. He nearly tripped over a loose cord on the floor, but she caught him. He flinched away from her touch, so she released him, despite her concern that he may still fall over.

“I don't get sick,” he said when they were in the lift. “The other guy takes care of that. I don't get hurt, sick, anything.”

“How do you explain your current condition then?”

He frowned, probably taking stock of himself.

“I'm dehydrated,” he said, like he'd only just noticed, which he probably had.

“Yes, you are,” Miranda said patiently. “You also have a fever and an elevated heart rate, which I'm told isn't good for you.”

He laughed. “No, you wouldn't like me if I'm tachycardic.” He squinted at her. “I can see why Tony likes you.”

She raised an eyebrow. “And you haven't even seen my medical skills yet. You, Dr Banner, are easily impressed.”

He snorted. “Bruce.”

“Miranda,” she replied, leading him out of the lift and down the hallway to the medical wing of the Avengers Tower. “Now Bruce, when was the last time you slept? Also, do realize I'm asking you to be polite, since I can just ask Jarvis, and he will not lie to me. So reconsider what you were going to say.”

He frowned at her. “That's a bit rude.”

“Yes, well. The accent helps. Americans seem to think everyone sounds polite when they have a British accent, which allows me to manipulate you to my will. I suspect it's why Jarvis is British as well.”

Bruce looked at her in awe as she settled him on a bed. “I hope you never try to team up with Tony and take over the world.”

“I'll take that as a compliment,” she replied, sticking a probe on his finger and a blood pressure cuff on his arm. “Although I am slightly offended that you think I'd need Tony to do it.”

He smiled at her, but laid back on the pillows, clearly exhausted now that it was pointed out to him.

“But you didn't answer my question. How long?”

Bruce shrugged. “Not entirely sure, so you might as well ask Jarvis.”

She tilted her head up. “Jarvis?”

“Doctor Banner last slept 31 hours ago.”

She tutted at him, and removed the blood pressure cuff from his arm. “Your vitals are pretty good, but you are rather dehydrated, and you need to sleep. Are you okay with needle pricks?”

They both knew what she was asking. _Will you turn into a green giant if I poke you with a needle?_

“Yes, I'm fine,” he told her, closing his eyes.

“Then I'll start you on a drip and let you sleep off whatever virus you've gotten.”

He smiled at her, but didn't open his eyes.

 

Shortly after, he was sound asleep, his fever down slightly, and his pulse back to a normal rate.

Miranda was pleased with herself, both for making sure Bruce would be alright, and for not being absolutely terrified by him.

She counted it as a win.

 


	15. Thor

 The last Avenger she treated (and met, since he'd been away for a while, and him dropping Tony off in medical absolutely did not count) was Thor, which made sense considering he was sort of a god, and pretty much immortal. But apparently even gods can get stabbed.

He's larger than life sitting on the bed, beds that are made specifically to fit super soldiers like Steve. He had the cape on, but thankfully the hammer was nowhere to be seen. Of course, considering it could be called to his hand in a matter of seconds, she wasn't entirely reassured.

“Healing maiden,” he boomed, and she winced.

“Inside voice,” she muttered, more to herself than to him, then looked up. “Yes Mr Odinson?”

“Thor, please,” he said, beaming at her.

“Well, Thor, you may call me Miranda.”

He beamed again. “Of course. Miranda, I assure you I am well.”

“Actually,” she corrected, smoothly interrupting whatever he was going to say next, “Jarvis told me that you were stabbed, and required medical attention.”

Thor frowned at that.

“The voice of the house is indeed wise,” he conceded after a moment. “He has not proven to be false so far. Did you know he taught me of the wonders of shopping on the interwebs?”

Miranda held back her snicker.

“That was very nice of him,” she noted, using his distraction to remove a section of his armour. He probably wasn't so much distracted as he was humouring her, since he was a god and everything, but she would take it.

Thor nodded seriously, and his hair fell into his face. He pushed it aside with an enormous hand before returning to his tale. “There is an entire realm of the webs devoted to pop-tarts,” he told her, awestruck, like he still couldn't believe it.

“Can you lift your arm up for me?” she asked him, poking at one of his arms, also huge of course. “Do you have a favourite flavour?”

He obeyed, and considered it. “There is a vast array of flavours,” he told her, assisting with the removal of one of his chest pieces. “I do enjoy the simplicity of the strawberry pop-tart, but occasionally it is nice to treat myself with an exotic flavour, like the sugar cookie. They had amusing flightless birds on them,” he added.

Miranda smiled at him, and finally discovered where the stab wound was. Left side of his abdomen, just underneath the ribs. It wasn't bleeding more than a slight ooze, which was pretty impressive for the size. But then, she'd swear the edges were knitting themselves together in front of her eyes, so it was probably a demi-god thing.

 

She hadn't taken a set of vitals on a demi-god before, but hell, there was a first time for everything, so she set to it. She wasn't even sure if their vitals signs would match up with humans. Surely there had to be notes about that somewhere. SHIELD was annoying about that sort of thing, so someone had to have pinned Thor down before and run tests on him.

Although it seemed like no one could pin Thor down if he didn't want to be there, so maybe not.

 

She took the vitals, which did match up to the normal human set, so either Thor was very much like a human in that respect, or dying. By the time she was done that, the stab wound in his abdomen was even smaller than before. She wanted to wait to let him go until it was closed entirely, just to be sure, so she changed tactics.

“I heard you were in Asgard. What is it like there?”

Thor lit up. “Asgard is beautiful. Like your Midgard, but in a different way. Where you have wide seas...”

 

He went on for about an hour, detailing the beauty of his realm and his people, and Miranda watched the wound in his side completely heal.

It was like magic, except as Thor explained, somewhere when he was talking about the rainbow bridge, where he came from, magic and science were closely intertwined.

 

She still wasn't entirely sure about how she was supposed to be charting those sorts of things, but she wrote paragraphs and hoped it was sufficient.

 

Having met and treated Thor, all of the Avengers were now crossed off of her mental bucket list. Some of them were easier to deal with than others, some were obviously heartier than others, and some... honestly just terrified her. Mostly Natasha.

Definitely Natasha.


	16. Avengers Invited

It wasn't long after she moved into the Tower that it was the holiday season. She didn't know what that would mean for her and Ronald, since they sort of lived with someone from another planet, as well as some of the widest assortment of people she'd ever come across, but she bet whatever the festivities would be, they would be utterly and completely ridiculous.

 

Tony Stark didn't fail her.

 

A week before Christmas, an email was sent out to all occupants of the Tower, announcing a Christ-Hannu-Kwanz-Asgard party.

 

_Dear Freeloaders_

_We will be having a holiday celebration. In the interest of not excluding anyone's religious beliefs, we will be having a super fun celebration that encompasses basically everything, so no one can complain. Presents are mandatory. Receiving that is. I don't care if you get me or anyone else a present, but I will give you gifts and you will like them._

_Alcohol will be provided, and no Thor, you cannot bring Asgardian mead._

_Our super awesome fun party will be on December 23 rd, starting sometime in the afternoon, and ending the next day, or whenever the alcohol runs out, and let's face it, this is a Stark party, which means never. Also, guests are okay as long as they're not completely insane, and no more than two per person. And they don't get presents from me. _

 

Tony hadn't even bothered to sign it.

 

Thor replied shortly after, and managed to send it to everyone.

 

_FRIEND TONY, THE WINTER CELEBRATION ON ASGARD IS CALLED YULE AND IS SIMILAR TO YOUR CHRISTMAS._

 

Tony sent one back, to everyone, which she assumed was for amusement sake, because Tony knew how to work a computer.

 

_Okay big guy, but I'm going to keep the name. Next year we can come up with something together. Are you bringing Jane?_

 

_VERILY. LADY DARCY ALSO WISHES TO COME. LADY JANE WISHES THE FINE ERIK SELVIG TO COME AS WELL. I HOPE YOU CAN MAKE AN EXCEPTION FOR THE LIMIT OF TWO GUESTS._

 

_Of course. Clint and Darcy are bros. Can't say no to her. But I'm serious, you can't bring Asgardian mead._

 

_IT SADDENS ME, MAN OF IRON, BUT I AGREE TO YOUR TERMS._

 

She heard that Coulson would be bringing a scientist that he had worked with, and that Bruce would be bringing a scientist friend. Tony would have Pepper, of course, and his friend Rhodey would be coming as well. Steve didn't seem to have any friends outside of the Avengers, or if he did, she'd never heard about them. Clint and Natasha were both also mysteries; their best friends seemed to be each other.

 

She spent the next couple of days panicking over gifts.

 

“He said he doesn't want or expect gifts,” Ronald told her, sighing while she flipped through catalogues and perused online stores.

“Of course _he_ doesn't, he's rich and can buy anything his little billionaire heart desires. It's everyone else I'm worried about.” She tossed away another catalogue.

“Then, I don't know, get them all socks or something,” Ron sighed.

She threw a catalogue at him.

“Okay, fine, not getting them all socks,” he amended.

“If you're not going to be helpful, then just be quiet,” Miranda muttered. Ron took the hint and shut up for the next while.

 

She finally settled on gifts for all of them, however ridiculous they might be. New York was a magical place in that sense, because she could find the most unusual things, all within a short tube ride.

She came home with bags of gifts and rolls of wrapping paper, and threw them at Ronald to wrap while she went to soak in the enormous bathtub.

There were a lot of things about London she did miss, and a lot of things she didn't miss, but she certainly appreciated the weather there, which was less biting cold than New York.

 

Ron had only managed to wrap two things by the time she emerged, wrinkled like a prune and thoroughly thawed, which was probably for the best, because she'd forgotten to tell him which present was for who, and he hadn't labelled them.

(Not that she told him, but she rewrapped the two he'd already done.)

 


	17. Presents

She didn't spend as long fretting over clothes, because she had Jarvis tell her what Pepper and Natasha were planning on wearing, and planned her outfit accordingly. Jarvis also told her that Tony spent a good deal of time talking Thor out of wearing his full armour, including the helmet, which Miranda was glad for. Thor in full armour made her nervous, because it seemed like he was itching for a fight, and having his hammer around certainly did not allay her fears.

 

She settled on a dark green dress that revealed just the right amount of cleavage, and allowed her to not have to shave her upper legs. Because honestly, it was winter, and she wasn't going to go to all that trouble if no one was going to see them.

Ron wore a nice shirt and trousers that weren't jeans, so she counted that as a win.

 

When they arrived, gift bags in hand, most of the other guests were already there. There were the usual Avengers, of course, Tony in an expensive looking suit, Pepper at his side supervising him in a gorgeous blue dress. Miranda envied her. Bruce and Clint were both wearing purple dress shirts, but where Clint's was light, Bruce's was dark, nearly black. Thor still had a cloak on, but he was wearing Midgardian dress, not Asgardian, which was impressive. The woman he was clinging to like his life depended on it, who must have been the Lady Jane, was wearing a long purple gown that looked foreign, and Miranda wondered briefly where she got it. The one who must have been Darcy was poking at Thor and beaming at him, looking fantastic in a dark blue dress that didn't go anywhere near her knees. There was an older man hovering near them, and he must have been the scientist. He wore a shirt and a tie, and a kilt of all things. Miranda didn't think he was Scottish, going by his name, which was something unusual, but she couldn't be sure. Agent Coulson wasn't there yet, but Director Fury was, in his usual black leather. Another surprise was that Maria Hill was there as well, looking stunning in red. She was speaking in low tones to Natasha, who was wearing a black dress that could no doubt hide at least three weapons.

 

There was a small mountain of presents, both in gift bags and wrapped boxes, next to the artfully decorated tree that Pepper had spent most of the previous day decorating. Miranda tugged Ron by his sleeve, and pulled him along with her as she set her bags down next to the pile.

 

“My favourite non-nurse lady,” Tony exclaimed, and she rolled her eyes. He'd called her a nurse once, and she nearly bit his head off, and spent half an hour drawing a chart to detail how an emergency care practitioner was different from a nurse, especially considering she was a paramedic first. He made sure to never make that mistake again.

“Tony,” she said graciously. “I'm glad you've managed to not set yourself on fire.”

Last she'd seen of Tony, he was in his lab, and she was dropping off food and water to make sure he didn't pass out before the party. He was working on developing something that involved pyrotechnics, and she backed slowly out of the lab before she could become a casualty.

“It was no big deal,” he said, waving a hand. “Dum-E handled it.”

She narrowed her eyes at him. “Tony Stark-”

“I'm kidding,” he said, rolling his eyes. “Believe me, Dum-E is not that good. Besides Jarvis is a big tattle tale. Did you bring me presents?” he asked, eyeing the bags she'd just set down.

She feigned confusion. “I thought we weren't supposed to?”

He made puppy-dog eyes at her. “Oh, come on, you know just as well as anyone that it was a total lie. Pepper made me do it.”

Pepper swatted him on the arm with one impeccably manicured hand.

“I stand corrected, it was entirely true,” Tony backpedalled.

She rolled her eyes at him. Ron had wandered off and was speaking to the man in the kilt, and Agent Coulson still hadn't arrived with Fitzsimmons, so she had nothing better to do than humour Tony.

“Yes, there is a present in that pile for you,” she cooed. “But only if you're very good, and don't horrendously insult anyone until we open them.”

“But-” he protested. “I've already started drinking!” He held up his glass pitifully.

Miranda shrugged. “I can always keep it. Or, you can make me a drink, and I'll think on it.”

Tony's eyes narrowed. “You drive a hard bargain. But I think I can convince you.”

She beamed, and he sauntered off to the bar to mix her a drink.

 

In the meantime, Agent Coulson showed up, with his scientist, no, scratch that, _scientists_ , in tow.

Fitzsimmons, it turned out, was actually two separate people. Leo Fitz and Jemma Simmons, both scientists with SHIELD.

Bless them, they were both British. Fitz was wearing an oversized jumper with a pair of nice trousers, and Simmons was wearing a blouse and dress pants. Coulson was in his trademark suit. Miranda didn't think she'd seen him wearing anything but a suit.

 

Apparently with their arrival, Tony decided it was time for food, and shepherded them all to the dining room where the table was laid out like it was the bloody last feast.

Tony had ordered in, since he seemed to be unable to cook. From experience, Miranda knew that letting Tony in a kitchen was a bad idea. That was what led her to treating burns. Not fun. The other Avengers had varying degrees of skill, but none of them would have wanted to cook for so many people, so takeaway it was.

Tony, being Tony, had ordered the widest variety of food known to man, ranging all the way from traditional 'American' food like pizza and fries, all the way to the shawarma he seemed so fond of, and everything in between.

Plates were provided for everyone to pile their food on, except for Thor and Steve, who were given platters. Miranda admired Tony's thoughtfulness.

When everyone had heaping plates of food, and they were all seated somewhere in the giant living room, whether on the couch, in various armchairs, on furniture, or on other people's laps, Tony began passing out presents like a super rich attractive Santa Claus. He passed out his presents first, which were brand new, top of the line Stark Pads.

“Specially engineered to withstand super soldiers, lightning wielding gods, green fists, acid spills, falls from heights, and smashing.” He looked at each of the offending individuals as he spoke. They managed to not look miffed, except for Steve, who always looked vaguely guilty at any mention of him breaking things. She figured it was a Depression thing.

No one mentioned how each Stark Pad was individually designed, like Clint's featuring arrows, and Miranda's with little stethoscopes. Even Ron's was decorated, and Tony couldn't have spent more than five minutes in a room alone with him, if that.

 

Fitz and Simmons seemed utterly in awe that Tony gave them anything, let alone personalized Stark Pads. Miranda remembered the email Tony sent out, clearly stating that he wouldn't be giving gifts to the other guests, which apparently was a load of bullshit. Tony was like that.

 

He passed out everyone else's gifts after, moving on from his gifts and all the praise and thanks he was getting from everyone. Tony seemed allergic to genuine admiration, for all that he seemed incredibly self centred and narcissistic. She wasn't a psychiatrist, which was lucky for Tony, because he'd be diagnosed with a dozen different things by now.

 

Natasha had gone for the socks angle, which made Miranda incredibly grateful for not doing that. Natasha's choices were rather inspired though, and personalized. Fuzzy socks with unicorns for Clint, which he seemed genuinely amused by. Fury received black socks. Natasha pointed out that embroidered on them, also in black, were tiny bulldogs. Coulson received socks with lines and lines of text, which Miranda assumed was paperwork. Even Fitzsimmons received socks, with obscure scientific references that she didn't understand.

Clint went for gag gifts, getting pretty much everyone Hawkeye pants, which she didn't even know they made. She'd seen the other Avengers lingerie before, but had never seen Hawkeye. Miranda had faced the fact a while ago that Hawkeye seemed to be the least marketable Avenger. The kicker was the delivery method. He shot the tightly wrapped gifts at each of them.

“Something small, with a side of heart attack,” he said cheerfully, while everyone else glared at him between ducking behind sofas and avoiding arrows. The tips of the arrows were blunted, and Miranda knew how good of a shot Clint was, but she still didn't want to risk it.

Bruce gave gift cards that were carefully tailored to every person's interests. Darcy received iTunes, which she seemed thrilled with, and muttered something under her breath about men in black.

Thor had gone for Asgardian food, and when he'd brought it all back, Miranda couldn't say, but there it was. He mostly brought desserts, cakes and biscuits and the like. They looked very interesting, if somewhat dangerous. She wasn't sure she'd be sampling all of them, at least, not until Tony had run some tests.

 

There were also pyjamas, an assortment of weapons, office supplies, slippers, and gloves in there, all from various people, to varying levels of seriousness.

 

Her gifts were near the end of the pile, so when Tony finally handed them out, she was feeling rather inadequate. Still, they seemed pleased with their scoodies, and the design that each of them received. She'd pondered a long time over whether she should give each of them themselves, and finally ended up buying one of each, to be decided later. It was more of a last minute, spur of the moment thing that she decided who would be getting who, and she thought it turned out for the best.

Natasha ended up with a Hawkeye one, Clint ended up with a Black Widow one, Thor received a Thor one (mostly so he'd stopping wearing his helmet indoors), Bruce received a Hulk one, Steve got an Iron Man one, and Tony got a Captain America one.

 

They all seemed ridiculously pleased, which could have been the alcohol.

 

“What is it?” Clint asked, turning it around in his hands, like the answer would reveal itself to him.

“It's a combination of a hood and a scarf,” Miranda explained.

Thor put his on triumphantly, beaming. “A fine garment!” he declared. “Most suitable for the Midgardian weather as of late.”

Clint smirked as Natasha slipped hers on. “It's a good look,” he noted, popping his own hood on.

Natasha rolled her eyes at his theatrics, but Miranda noted that she ran her fingers lovingly over the H on the top of the hood, and smiled slightly to herself.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Scoodies are totally real, and the ones I based them on are found here: https://www.etsy.com/ca/shop/FallenDesigns?section_id=12601941&ref=shopsection_leftnav_1  
> (May not all be in stock right now.)  
> If anyone wants to give me one, or all of them, I'd love you forever.
> 
> Selvig wearing a kilt is based on another fanfiction that I loved, so I took it as a headcanon.
> 
> The line where Clint says "Something small, with a side of heart attack," is from LiveDragons.


	18. Drinks

Presents were pretty much over after that, and people moved on to dancing, drinking, and mingling.

 

Miranda accepted another Iron Man from Tony. He'd been mixing all the drinks, and apparently each of the Avengers had their own. The Iron Man featured pineapple juice, some sort of red liqueur, possibly cherry by the flavour, sprite, and a glowing blue cube that she didn't want to know about. Tony made a disclaimer at the beginning that if anyone ingested the glowing cube, he wasn't responsible for the consequences. Miranda took that to mean that she would be the one stuck with them.

 

She drank it carefully, certain not to even let the cube into her mouth. She probably should have had Bruce check them over before letting Tony give everyone drinks with them. Heaven forbid they be radioactive.

But the slight buzz of alcohol was enough to make her not want to bother, and Bruce was on the other side of the room, speaking with the woman he'd brought, and the one that Thor called Lady Jane. She didn't want to disturb, not with the level of hand waving that was going on.

 

Ron was at her side, nursing a Hulk, which involved mint liqueur and some other things she didn't want to know about. The various other people around the room, most of whom she'd met by now, all had their own drinks. Most were Avengers related, but a few of them eschewed Tony's mixing and got their own. Bruce had a soda, and Steve, poor Steve who couldn't get drunk, had a hot chocolate, which was adorable.

 

Darcy and Clint were whispering furtively by the fireplace, and she feared what they were plotting. Of what she'd heard about them, they were both enormous trouble on their own, and weren't allowed to be together without supervision.

She wasn't sure a team of mostly drunk superheroes that had a history of making poor decisions, and their support staff were the best supervisors.

But hey, Coulson was there, so it couldn't be entirely awful. Right?

 

While she was debating that, Tony snuck up behind her, as only a drunk Tony Stark could. He brandished a drink at her.

“It's a Miranda!” he declared proudly.

She glanced at him and the drink warily before taking a sip.

“This is... tea,” she accused. “Cold tea.”

“Iced tea,” he corrected.

She narrowed her eyes at him.

He backed away slowly. “Back to the drawing board then,” he quipped, slinking off.

 

Miranda shook her head, but took another sip. It wasn't entirely bad, and she was pretty sure there was some alcohol in it.

 

She gravitated towards the anxious Fitzsimmons, and she understood why they were referred to like that, as one person. They essentially were a single being. They finished each other's sentences, seemed to know what the other was thinking, and even had the same body language.

 

She introduced herself, and they seemed to find her accent comforting. They asked how she came to be at SHIELD, and she told them about Sherlock Holmes, about Fury in her flat, and about her eventual slow kidnapping to Tony Stark.

She listened to Fitz ramble on for a good while about Sherlock Holmes, and the number of theories he had about the whole Moriarty situation, before Simmons elbowed him and whispered in his ear. Miranda was thankful for that, because she wasn't sure she could stomach much more of it.

 

She glanced around at the party, which seemed to be gravitating towards simply drinking and dancing. “Would you like to come to my flat? Well, I share it with my husband, but it would be quieter there, and we could have a cuppa.” She glanced down at the drink she was holding. “A proper cuppa.”

They both looked relieved. “Oh, yes please,” Jemma breathed.

 

She tapped Ron on the shoulder before she left, and he seemed more than happy to escape from his conversation with Thor, who seemed slightly drunk, and made her suspect that he'd brought mead that he wasn't supposed to.

 

Back in their flat, she put the kettle on, and they all sat around the kitchen island.

 

“Tony ruined my tea,” Miranda said forlornly. “More than once.”

Jemma placed a hand on hers reassuringly. “They don't understand, do they?”

Miranda shook her head. “Tony still thinks it's amusing that I call our floor a flat, and the elevator the lift. He's determined to get me to come around to American speech, but I've threatened to have Jarvis ignore him unless he uses the British terminology.”

The woman smiled. “That is brilliant. But can't Mr Stark override it? It is his computer after all.”

“Jarvis and I have an... understanding,” Miranda said finally, smiling. “Besides, Tony knows who controls the morphine.”

Jemma beamed at her.

 

Miranda glanced up. On the other side of the room, Leo and Ron were engaged in a heated debate about monkeys. She didn't want to know.

 

She didn't remember too much after that, since she'd had four Mirandas (and two Iron Mans and one Hawkeye before that) but there was no death, no fire alarms, and minimal property damage, so she considered it a success.

 

The hangover in the morning was brutal, but somehow, worth it. Fitzsimmons were fast asleep on her couch when she finally crawled out of bed, intertwined in each other in a way that hardly seemed possible. But then, she wasn't the expert on physics.

Fitz was awake, and begged her silently with his eyes to not say anything, and after all, how could she protest? She'd seen the look he had before; love for someone who loved you back, but not in the same way.

(She had to look at it everyday.)

 

 


	19. Christmas

 Christmas day was far more subdued, and she and Ronald spent most of it together on their floor, lazing around in pyjamas, drinking ridiculously sweet coffee, and opening presents.

 

They snuck down to the communal kitchen around dinnertime, and helped themselves to the traditional Christmas dinner, turkey, mashed potatoes, the whole lot, but took it back up to their flat to eat it.

Jarvis informed her most of the Avengers were not in the Tower. Tony and Pepper were in Malibu, taking full advantage of the sun and warmth. Thor had gone with Lady Jane back to New Mexico, and her assorted entourage. Bruce had gone with Betty back to wherever she was from, and Natasha and Clint had disappeared. They were spies, so it could have been pretty much anything. Possibly a mission for SHIELD, but it could have been a spur of the moment vacation.

Which left Ron and Miranda in the tower, with Steve.

“Should we have invited him?” Miranda pondered, twirling her fork in the mashed potatoes. “Really, I feel awful now. Is he alone?”

Ron shrugged. “Maybe he wants to be alone.”

“Nobody wants to be alone on Christmas,” Miranda protested. “Jarvis, tell Steve that we're inviting him to dinner. No, scratch that, it's mandatory.”

“Captain Rogers is not currently in the Tower,” Jarvis replied.

Miranda frowned. “Where did he go?”

“He did not tell me, but I believe he went to visit Peggy Carter. She is in a nursing home about an hour away.”

“Peggy...” she mused. “I've heard about her. Steve told me something about a Peggy. But that was before the ice.” The realization dawned on her. “Oh god. Is this the same Peggy he had a date with?”

“Yes, it is,” Jarvis said quietly. “Margaret Carter married after Captain Rogers' apparent death, and lived a long and productive life. Captain Rogers likes to go and visit her as often as he can, but it is hard on him, as her memory is not what it once was.”

“That is awful,” Miranda muttered, suddenly losing her taste for turkey.

“If I may, Captain Rogers has expressed only happiness for how Peggy has lived her life. He seems to recognize that as nothing can be done about it, he can only be happy for her.”

“That is awful,” Miranda repeated.

“Agreed,” Ron said.

“Jarvis, if he comes back tonight, let him know he's to come over for pie.”

“Of course.”

 

Steve didn't return that night, and they didn't speak about it afterwards. Miranda couldn't help but mourn for him, for a life that could have been.

 

 

* * *

 

 

The Tower began to fill up again for New Year's Eve, even though Tony hadn't formally announced a party. And when Miranda said formally, she meant an email or mass text, since those both counted in Tony's book as formal.

 

Everyone just seemed to... wander back home. Because that's what it was, she realized, to pretty much all of them.

To Bruce, who'd spent so much time in the last few years moving around, on the run. To Natasha and Clint, who both never really had a home. To Steve, who had lost his home and all his friends, sleeping nearly a lifetime away. To Thor, it was a home away from home, his dwelling on his second planet.

And to Tony, who had built it and filled it with all his friends, all the people he cared about. Sure, he'd escape to Malibu for a weekend here or there, but New York, that was his home.

 

Or maybe that was the alcohol talking, she reflected, sipping at her champagne while watching the fireworks from the best view in the city.

Either way, it was beautiful.


	20. Thorapy

Most of January passed without incident, except for an incident with frost giants, which she came to realize were the same species that Thor's adopted brother, Loki, was.

The incident made Thor sullen for a few days, as sullen as he could be, which was mostly reduced down to the consumption of large amounts of pop-tarts, and a steady drizzle that melted all the snow and made a good number of the occupants of New York miserable.

 

Thankfully, it passed, with the help of some cups of cocoa, and impromptu therapy sessions, during which Miranda mostly listened and nodded while Thor regaled her of his childhood tales.

 

“I still don't understand why he has done these things,” he sighed.

Miranda pondered it for a moment, wishing that Tony had made the hot chocolate, and therefore added a little something.

“Loki found out he was adopted in pretty much the worst way possible,” she finally said. She'd heard that tale around Thanksgiving, when Thor had smuggled some Asgardian mead into their dinner, which had the happy side effect of allowing Thor to get drunk. (Steve was still immune however, which made Tony sad, and Miranda relieved beyond measure.)

“He reacted badly,” which was an understatement. “And things snowballed from there.”

She winced at her word choice, which made Thor slump deeper in his chair.

“Father was no help; if anything, he made it worse. He did always tell us that we were destined to be king. But there can only be one king of Asgard, and Loki knew that it would never be him, as soon as he discovered his true parentage.”

Miranda nodded sympathetically.

“All our lives, he lied to us. He must have had the best intentions, but nothing good came of it.” He sighed heavily. “When Father told us the frost giants still lived, I swore, in my childish fervour, that I would hunt them all down and kill them when I was king.”

Miranda winced.

“You still love him,” she hazarded, attempting to move the topic away from him blaming himself, and back to... well, anything else.

“He is my brother,” Thor concurred. “I will always love him, even if he cannot find it in his heart to love me back.”

“Sometimes, love is unrequited,” Miranda told him, echoing something she'd heard in English classes, so many years ago. “All you can do is offer him love, and hope that some day, he can find it in his heart to love you back. It is not your fault that your father lied to him. You didn't know, after all, and you were raised as brothers.”

Thor nodded. “I know. But it is hard, when Loki refuses to see me when I go visit him in captivity.”

“You can't make him come around,” Miranda said gently, “But hopefully he can. He just needs time to come to terms with what your father told him.”

Thor nodded, slurping the last of his hot chocolate.

“Your words carry great wisdom,” he concluded, nodding. “I shall keep them in mind the next time my mind wanders to the tragedy of my brother.” He stood up, and she followed.

“You can always come talk to me,” Miranda told him, reaching up to pat him on a massive shoulder. She would probably regret it later, but it was sort of her job, even if it wasn't technically in her job description.

“Thank you Lady Miranda,” Thor said, rather subdued for him.

He returned the reassuring pat, and it nearly broke her arm.

“Anytime,” she squeaked.

 


	21. Tony... Seriously, Again?

An alarm woke her up in the middle of the night.

She rubbed her eyes, but knew that wishing it away wouldn't work.

“Jarvis?” she asked.

“Sorry to wake you, but Mr Stark is in need of your assistance.”

“What'saproblem?” Ron muttered, his head popping up from the pillow to ask.

“Tony fucking Stark,” she swore, and Ron took that as enough explanation, his head falling back to the pillow.

“Where is he Jarvis?” she asked, pulling a jumper on top of her pyjamas.

“Mr Stark is currently in the kitchen on his floor.”

She stumbled out the door of their quarters and over to the lift, where it was already waiting for her.

“What is it? Because if it's another 'hold this thing while I fix this so it doesn't explode' I will hurt him.”

“No at all,” Jarvis said quickly. “He appears to be unwell, and is not responsive.”

“Right. Is anyone else up?”

“Thor is awake.”

“Great. Can you have him bring a stretcher to Tony? Actually, no, just have him meet me in the kitchen, he can just carry Tony.”

“Of course. Anything else?”

“Do you have vitals?” she asked as the doors opened on Tony's floor. Pepper was in Japan or China on business, one of the entire day by aeroplane countries.

“Temperature is elevated, as is pulse and respiration. Left here,” he instructed.

“Thank you,” she muttered, spotting Tony slumped on the floor. “Did he fall?” she ordered, kneeling next to him. “Lights on please.”

The kitchen lit up as Jarvis began to speak. “He fell from standing, and did not hit his head on the way down. Spinal precautions are not necessary.”

“Love you Jarvis.”

“Thor is on his way, ” he said in response, which she knew meant 'love you too' in Jarvis speak.

 

She rolled Tony from his fetal position on to his back. He stirred slightly, but didn't awaken. She only had time to get a pulse and respiratory rate before Thor appeared.

“Healing maiden, how is friend Stark?”

“Not well Thor,” she replied. “I need you to carry him to the medical floor for me.”

Thor bent over and scooped Tony gently into his arms, cradling his head like one would with an infant. Miranda nearly had to run to keep up with his hurried footsteps.

 

“He is warm,” Thor noted while they were in the lift.

“Yeah,” she conceded, distracted by the rasp in Tony's chest. “He's probably got an infection of some sort, in his lungs by now, because he's lucky like that.”

 

The doors of the lift opened, and Thor strode over to a bed, setting Tony down with care.

“Do you require further assistance? Shall I fetch Dr Banner?”

“Oh, no thank you Thor. Jarvis will be able to alert you or anyone else if we need you. Thank you for carrying Tony.”

He bowed slightly to her, and left.

 

She set to work, stripping Tony's shirt off to place EKG leads. She placed a probe on his finger, and frowned when it announced what the oxygen saturation in his blood was.

“I know that your sats are normally lower, but that's still too low. Jarvis, what are his baselines?” she asked, untangling the tubing of an oxygen mask.

“92 to 95 percent,” Jarvis replied.

She glanced back up at the screen. 88. “You're a mess Tony,” she sighed, placing the mask on his face and turning up the flow of oxygen.

“Dehydrated too, of course,” she noted. At least his temperature was low grade, not high enough to be risking brain damage or seizures. Because that was all he needed.

She set about finding a vein while watching his sats rise.

“Your veins are rubbish,” she told him. Miranda stepped back and considered her options. There was a potentially viable vein on his left hand, and that was about it. She could always throw in a central line, or an intraosseous line, but she'd rather not.

“Sorry about this,” she said in advance, before attempting to cannulate his hand.

“Oh, I think it worked,” she said, drawing back blood. Of course, as soon as she said that, the vein collapsed and she had nothing to work with. “Dammit,” she muttered. “I suppose it's settled then. Subclavian would probably be best,” she told herself, feeling along Tony's neck and collarbone.

She stuck a plaster on his hand, and set up to insert a line into the larger vein.

 

 


	22. Idiot

 The line was inserted, and she'd started running fluids when she paused to consider antibiotics.

“Anything besides the sulfa allergy Jarvis? In terms of antibiotics.”

“No known allergies besides that one,” Jarvis confirmed.

“Okay,” she sighed to herself. “Should probably get a chest x-ray, but I've never done that before on someone unconscious,” she admitted. “And I don't even know what his x-rays are supposed to look like. Do you have a comparison image of his baseline Jarvis?”

“Of course,” he replied, and on the nearest screen, an image of Tony's chest appeared.

She blinked at it. “What the hell.” She traced the outline of the arc reactor. “Okay, I understand why Dr Leary was so panicky about Tony. This is... a mess,” she settled on. “I mean, I knew his lung capacity was reduced, but seeing it like this... is there a lateral one?”

Jarvis switched the image.

Miranda just blinked at it.

“Remind me to yell at Tony later. Because...” she shook her head. She didn't have words for that. She honestly didn't know how the man was still alive, let alone functioning as a superhero.

“Antibiotics,” she muttered to herself, trying to get the image out of her mind. Miranda knew it would be there every time she closed her eyes for the next week at least.

 

She hung the antibiotics alongside the saline, and injected a painkiller and an antipyretic for good measure.

She went over the checklist, using her finger to keep track. “Oxygen, fever reduction, antibiotics, fluids... am I missing anything Jarvis?”

“I am not qualified to say,” he told her.

“Oh, I should probably draw blood for labs,” she said. “Not sure if a culture would show anything, but I'll bet you his electrolytes are off from his lifestyle. I bet he hasn't had anything but coffee and liquids for the last couple of days, and not enough enough of those.”

Jarvis chose not to respond, which was answer enough.

 

Miranda drew the blood samples, and set them aside. That was one thing she couldn't do.

“Jarvis, can you arrange to have someone from SHIELD collect the samples in the morning and run them?”

“Of course.”

“Thank you,” she sighed, holding back a yawn. “What time is it,” she muttered, feeling the sleep weighing down on her now that the adrenaline had worn off.

“It's now 3:34 am. I woke you at 2:47 am.”

She shrugged. “Not bad then. I think I'm going to take a nap. The alarms are on the monitor if anything goes wrong, but if he wakes up and tries to sneak out, let me know okay? He can't override me when it comes to his health, right?”

“Correct,” Jarvis confirmed.

“Great,” she said, yawning. She climbed into the bed next to Tony's, making sure she could see the monitor displaying the vital signs.

“Oh, and if he shows signs of waking up, let me know.”

“Of course,” Jarvis said graciously, and then Miranda slipped back into sleep.

 

Jarvis didn't wake her up, and she got up on her own around 7am. Tony looked about the same, but his fever was down thanks to the drugs, and his colour was better.

He showed signs of stirring, so she replaced the oxygen mask with a nasal cannula. She figured she had a better chance of keeping that on him.

 

In the meantime, a SHIELD courier showed up to take the blood samples, and the Tower started to awaken. Steve stopped by before heading out on his morning run, and his eyes were sad, even if he didn't say it. Miranda shooed him out, telling him that he would be the first to know if he woke up. Bruce wandered in a bit later, looking bleary eyed and confused, but happy that Tony was getting proper medical care, and not 'half assed stuff that I can get away with in developing countries' as he so poetically put it.

Natasha was away on a mission, and Thor could have gone to sleep after his midnight foray, but one could never be sure. Clint had a habit of sleeping in until at least noon if he didn't have anything to do, so she wasn't expecting him to show up any time soon, and if he did, it wouldn't be through the door, but rather through the air vents he was so fond of.

 

It was getting to be mid-morning by the time Tony actually awoke, and blinked at her.

“You're an idiot,” she told him as soon as he focused on her.

He only rolled his eyes at her, and closed them again. She glanced at the monitor. “You're not sleeping, so don't think you can ignore me.”

He didn't open his eyes, so she poked him. “I will poke you with something sharper,” she noted. “There are needles around here.”

“What do you want woman?” he sighed, heaving his eyes open and staring at her.

“You're an idiot,” she repeated.

Tony looked away. “You said that. But that's a well known fact. Is there anything else you'd like to tell me?”

“I have a question. Why didn't you come to me when you knew you were getting ill?”

He didn't look back at her.

“Tony,” she prodded. “I'm not sure what you're expecting me to do, but I don't give up that easily. Do you know why SHIELD recruited me?”

He shook his head slightly. “Wasn't in the file. Can't hack something that doesn't exist.”

“Have you ever heard of Sherlock Holmes? Brilliant detective from London? His best mate John Watson ran a blog about the cases he solved. Seriously, the guy was a genius. Stubborn as hell though, and he liked to take crazy risks to prove a point. Sound familiar?”

Tony narrowed his eyes at her. “I may have heard of him. Isn't he dead?”

Miranda's smile faded. “Yeah. Apparently it was suicide. He jumped off a building.”

“You don't sound convinced,” Tony observed.

She shook her head. “I'm not. I patched that man up more than anyone else in London except for maybe John. I knew him well enough to know that he wouldn't do something like that. He was a detective, right? And just before he dies, there's this huge court case and supposed conspiracy. Besides, I fixed him up. He always fought. He didn't want to die.”

Tony glanced away. “Is there a point to this?”

“SHIELD recruited me because I could make Sherlock Holmes get treated. And just as important, I could keep him calm when his best friend was hurt. Most of the paramedics in London were terrified of him, for a good reason. But me?” She shrugged. “I could handle him. That's why SHIELD hired me. And you are no more difficult or annoying than Sherlock Holmes. You're a bit more medically complicated, but it's nothing I can't handle.”

“I'm guessing a god is something new though,” Tony noted wryly, his head lolling to one side.

She shrugged. “Thor's a giant puppy. And just like a puppy, you have to distract him if you want to do anything.”

Tony snorted, and it turned into a cough.

She held a cup of water out for him when he finished.

“So why didn't you come to me?”

He accepted the water and drank half of it before setting it down and tapping his finger on his chest. She'd seen him do it before, when he was nervous or stressed. He'd tap out a rhythm on the arc reactor, like he was reassuring himself it was still there.

“Stark men are made of iron,” he whispered.

She was pretty sure it wasn't directed at her, so she didn't respond to that.

He shrugged finally, removing his hand from his chest, instead looping his fingers through the IV tubing. She left it alone. Unless he removed it, it was fine. “Wasn't a big deal,” he said finally, and she only levelled a look at him.

“Bullshit,” she enunciated clearly.

Tony grinned at her. “It never starts out as a big deal. And most of the time, it doesn't turn into a big deal.” He shrugged. “Balance of probability. Most of the time it is fine, so I can't worry about it. I can't worry about every thing that may be wrong with me, because I'd never get anything done. I'd have to spend the rest of my life in a bubble, or the suit.” He shrugged again, resigned. “I can't do that.”

She tilted her head. “Okay. I get that. But there's a difference between, oh, having a cold, and letting it develop into pneumonia. You need to figure out at what point it does become a big deal, and prepare accordingly. Isn't that what Jarvis is for?”

Tony smirked at her. “Not what I programmed him for, but yes, he does tend to be useful when it comes to that.”

“And this time?”

“Came on fast. Less than a day from my baseline to this,” he said, gesturing to the bed.

 

“Oh, speaking of which, I need to get a chest x-ray. I didn't do it when you were unconscious, because you know, the whole inhale and hold it thing, and you were not up for doing it while unconscious.”

“I'm not going to autograph it for you,” he told her, and they both knew it was a bad attempt at a joke.

She sighed dramatically. “Oh, I suppose I'll have to suffer through.”

 

Miranda had Jarvis display the two x-rays side by side.

“Those don't look... good,” Tony admitted.

Miranda glared at him and jabbed the images with her pen. “Cloudy! Cloudy, cloudy, patchy, cloudy!”

Tony attempted a smile. “Pneumonia. Oops.”

“Oops is right. You are not leaving this bed until this,” she jabbed at the newest x-ray, “Looks like this,” she jabbed at the baseline x-ray.

“But that'll take forever,” Tony whined.

Miranda placed her hands on her hips and glared at him, daring him to argue with her. “I'm sorry, but did I or did I not discover you collapsed in your kitchen?”

Tony scowled. “How am I supposed to know?” He considered it. “How did you get me here anyway?”

She smirked. “You were carried.”

His face paled, which was surprising given his current level of paleness. “By who?”

“Thor.”

Tony relaxed slightly.

Miranda raised an eyebrow at that. “So Thor is okay, but who's not? Steve?”

Tony blushed slightly. He mumbled something under his breath.

“Tony Stark!” she exclaimed. “Now, you will stay in this bed or I will get Captain America himself to come babysit you. And you know that he will give you his disappointed face, and I have seen stronger men than you crumple under that face.”

Tony seemed visibly pained by that. He folded.

“Fine,” he muttered.

Miranda patted him on the shoulder. “Good choice.”


	23. Still an Idiot

 The next day, the Avengers alarm went off.

Miranda was sitting at Tony's bedside, reading while he designed something on his tablet, and he dropped it immediately to sit up and throw his covers off.

“No way in hell,” she bellowed, throwing her book down on the bed. Tony, who already had his legs hanging over the side, opened his mouth to protest.

She cut him off with a glare. “I will handcuff you to this bed.”

“I can pick handcuffs,” he countered.

“I'm sure you can,” she replied, grinning. “I'm not intending for them to hold you there, but simply slow you down. Don't test me Tony. You are not going out there. You were critically ill yesterday, and are only marginally better today.”

He flagged, slouching back on his pillow.

“But they need me,” he protested.

“Thor is on earth, and you know perfectly well that he can provide air support. If anything, you will only collapse halfway through and will be a liability. Do you want to do that?”

“No ma'am,” he mumbled.

“Quite right,” she agreed, patting him on the shoulder. “I'm going to check on what it is, and make a cup of tea. Would you like one?”

“What is it with people and tea? You're British, I get that, but Bruce has his tea thing too. You'd probably get along well. You've met, right? Yes, of course you have. He told me about it, because I do listen sometimes.” He paused, frowning. “No, I don't want tea.”

She examined him. “Fine. But you had damn well better be in that bed when I get back. Jarvis, let me know if he tries to leave.”

With that she turned her back on Tony, and headed off the the tiny kitchen on the medical floor. Tiny being relative, because nothing in a building made by Tony Stark could be actually tiny. She checked her SHIELD email and turned on the news to find the Avengers beating up large gooey creatures. She shuddered. They were going to make an enormous mess.

With her tea in hand, she headed back to Tony's bed, fingers crossed that he was still there so she wouldn't have to kill him.

 

He wasn't there.

“I'm going to kill him,” she announced to the room at large.

“Apologies,” Jarvis said, and he sounded like he meant it. “Mr Stark overrode your orders to inform you if he left.”

“Of course he did. Where is he now?”

“I have been forbidden to give you that information.” Jarvis actually sounded sorry about that too.

“Has the Iron Man armour been dispatched?” she countered.

“Yes.”

“Is Tony in the armour yet?”

“I cannot tell you that.”

“Can you show me heat signatures inside the Tower?”

Jarvis paused, considering it. “Yes,” he concluded, pulling up a floorplan of the Tower on the nearest holographic projector, red dots highlighting heat signatures.

“Okay, that's me,” she said, pointing. “Who's that?” she asked, pointing to another, two floors down.

“Miss Potts.”

She pointed to someone on the second floor. “That one?”

“Support staff.”

“Can you identify if any of them have temperatures higher than normal?”

“Of course,” Jarvis replied, and he sounded pleased about that, like he was waiting for her to ask.

Only one red dot remained, on one of the upper floors that functioned as R&D. Of course.

“Has the armour been sent to the floor that heat signature is on?” Miranda asked.

“Yes.”

“Gotcha,” she muttered. “Let's designate that X, okay Jarvis. Let me know if X gets anywhere else. I'm going to go meet him.”

She grabbed a sedative and a wheelchair and set off for the lift. She would be bringing Tony back, come hell or high water.

Just before reaching the floor, Jarvis informed her that X had not gotten anywhere, which was both good, and bad. Good because Tony wasn't escaping, but bad because he wasn't moving.

When the lift arrived, she pushed the wheelchair just enough into the hallway, and went stalking down in her socked feet, because hell yes she was sneaking up on him.

It really wasn't needed, since he apparently knew she was coming, a blueprint of the tower on his Stark Pad. He looked only slightly guilty.

“I thought I could make it,” he muttered. Miranda examined him. He was flushed and out of breath, and she wouldn't be surprised to see if his blood pressure tanked.

“Do I need to use the sedative?” she asked him, holding it up.

He shook his head.

“I swear if you move in the two minutes it takes me to get the wheelchair, I will stab you so fast you won't know what hit you.”

He stuck his tongue out at her, but that was the extent of his protest.


	24. Mystery for the Ages

Thankfully, he didn't move, and she just helped him into the wheelchair instead of heaving his unconscious body into it. It would have served him right had he gotten a bruise.

He was quiet as she wheeled him back into the lift and as they descended back to the medical floor.

“Do I need to tell you how much of an idiot you are?”

Tony grumbled.

“I still can,” she pointed out, pushing him out of the lift. “Because I gave you specific instructions. And don't think I was fibbing about the handcuffs. And now my tea is probably cold.” She hoped Tony could feel the glare she was levelling at the back of his neck. “You do not get in between a woman and her tea, got it?”

Tony held his hands up in mock horror, and allowed her to help him back into the bed. She stuck the probe back on his finger, and reconnected the IV line. At least he had the good sense to turn it off, and disconnect it, rather than removing the entire thing, which would have led to a lot of bleeding. He wasn't a complete fool, not that she was going to tell him that. As far as she was concerned, Tony could think he was in deep trouble for at least the next little while.

She frowned at the sats. “Oxygen back on,” she ordered, and Tony, bless his heart, knew when he was in trouble, and obeyed.

“They need me?” he offered as an excuse, and they both knew it was going to get him exactly nowhere.

“I'm sorry, what were you saying about that?” she asked innocently, the tv behind her turning on to the news channel, where coverage of the battle was featured. The Avengers were clearly winning.

He muttered to himself, and attempted to curl away from her.

“Ah, no,” she told him, grabbing his arm to pull him back. “Vitals first, then you can sulk.”

He hissed at her, which was kind of adorable. She always thought he would make an excellent cat, both loving and completely indifferent in turn.

“You try to bite me and I'll spritz you with water,” she threatened, and it was enough to get him to cooperate, even if they both knew it was mostly an empty threat.

 

 

* * *

 

 

The battle was short and sweet, which meant no one got hurt and needed her assistance. Instead, the team piled into medical afterwards to greet Tony, and berate him, depending on if they'd heard what he'd tried to do or not.

 

Steve and Natasha both glared at him, Steve reciting a lovely little speech that Miranda suspected he'd used before, before stalking off. Clint nodded in the right places, but his heart wasn't in it. Bruce was passed out, apparently in the media room according to Jarvis, but Miranda knew he would be in later to berate Tony.

Thor stayed after everyone else left, a box of pop-tarts magically appearing from somewhere underneath his cape.

He offered them to Tony and Miranda, and they both accepted. Tony looked skeptically at his, while Thor munched happily, and Miranda pondered how such a flavour was even thought of, much less invented.

 

“It is strange,” Thor observed, “For Asgard to be so much more advanced technologically than your Earth, and yet, to not have developed pop-tarts.”

“A mystery for the ages,” she agreed.

Tony snorted in the background, and they both ignored him.

 

It was another week before his chest x-ray was even remotely close to being back to baseline, and Miranda let Tony out of bed. Not far, mind, certainly not to his workshops, but she let him go to the media room to watch movies, and let him sleep in his own room at night. He was looking better, and eating and drinking a nearly normal amount, so she had to be pleased with that.

Thankfully, there were no other incidents that required the Avengers, because she wasn't sure she could have stopped him from going out.


	25. Coulson

She didn't expect to ever treat Agent Coulson, because after all, the man was rumoured to be a robot, a clone, an alien, or an LMD, and none of those really required medical attention.

But there he was, slung over the shoulder of Clint Barton, mostly unconscious in her medical wing.

 

“Hello,” she said, a little speechless.

Clint nodded at her. “He's been drugged,” he said, by way of explanation, carefully dropping him onto a bed. He moved back to let her work, but still hovered nearby.

“Do you know with what?” she asked, shining a light in Coulson's eyes. His pupils reacted normally.

Barton shook his head.

“Agent Coulson,” she said loudly, trying to get a response out of him. There wasn't one. She winced before kneading his sternum, which prompted a moan.

“Agent Coulson, do you know where you are?”

The only response was a hand feebly attempting to bat her away.

“Okay, not oriented,” she muttered, grabbing an oxygen mask and pressing it to his face. She really didn't like seeing Agent Coulson like this. Everyone else, okay, she wasn't pleased with, but at least she'd seen them at their worst before, broken, bloody, sick. Agent Coulson was the pinnacle of order. To see him not at him best was unnerving.

She gestured Clint over to help. “I need you to help me get his suit off.”

Clint made a strangled noise that was somewhere between a laugh and a sob, but he obeyed.

Coulson muttered something unintelligible while Clint pulled his jacket off, and Miranda stuck EKG leads to his chest. She stuck a probe on his finger, and glanced up and down his arms to look for a site to stick an IV in.

The scar on his chest was large, and just next to his heart.

She heard Clint breathe in quickly, a sharp intake of breath that was oh so telling. She looked up at him.

“I just... never get used to it, you know?” he explained.

She knew.

Sats weren't terrible, even if his respiratory rate was a bit low. She'd have to keep an eye on that. She really didn't want to have to intubate him, but if he declined any further, it might be a necessity.

“Can you take blood pressure?” he asked Clint, glancing over at him.

He shook his head. “Stark hasn't made the aids work with a stethoscope yet.”

“Right,” she muttered, slipping a cuff on Coulson's arm. “Probably not his highest priority. Can you grab the stuff for an IV? He'll need a line.”

Clint nodded, and disappeared into the storage closet.

By the time Clint returned, bearing more things that she sent him for, Miranda had concluded that Coulson's blood pressure was low, but not dangerously so. Yet. She'd have to keep an eye on it. Just another thing to keep an eye on.

She had a feeling it was going to be a long afternoon.

 

“Brought a gown too,” he said quietly, passing her the supplies shed asked for.

Miranda smiled at him. “You'd make an excellent nurse if you weren't so annoying.”

Clint scratched his head, and watched while Miranda set up the IV, taping it to Coulson's hand.

“Thanks. I think.”

She nodded, smiling slightly as Agent Coulson stirred on the bed.

She should figure out a GCS to have for a baseline, and draw blood to test. If she knew what the drug was, she could treat him for it, but until then, she could only provide supportive measures.

“Did he ingest it?” she asked, Clint's head snapping up.

“Oh, no. He was injected. The bastard jabbed him with a needle in the arm.” He winced. “I should probably have mentioned that.” Scouring the skin, Clint pointed it out for her. It was barely noticeable.

“It's alright. Just changes a few things. Activated charcoal won't help, because it wasn't ingested.”

She ran over the numbers in her head. GCS was 8, making him essentially comatose, but as long as his respiratory rate kept up, she wouldn't have to provide supportive measures beyond the oxygen. His sats were staying up with the oxygen, and there wasn't much else she could do.

 

She drew blood and summoned SHIELD workers to courier it back to headquarters and run labs, and she sat with Clint at Coulson's bedside, monitoring his vital signs closely, and keeping track of his level of consciousness.

After an hour, his GCS rose to 9, and after two, SHIELD told her the drug in his system was rohypnol, known for being used as a date rape drug.

When she realized his temperature was dropping, slowly, but still dropping, she fetched a warm blanket to cover him, and Coulson seemed to relax minutely after that.

 

Clint spent some of the time teaching her basic signs. She knew some sign language, but apparently American and British sign languages were different, which she thought was rubbish.

 

When Coulson was back to being more or less conscious, although not entirely lucid, she replaced the oxygen mask with a nasal cannula, and had to explain to him three times what he was doing there.

“Where's Clint?” he muttered, grabbing her hard rather tightly for someone who was having CNS issues.

“Right here,” she told him, motioning Clint closer. “He's fine.”

“You were drugged sir,” Clint added helpfully, for not the first time. Coulson grabbed for his hand, and relinquished Miranda's, which was nice, so she could check his pupils again.

He took most of it in stride, ignoring her in favour of scanning Clint up and down for injuries.

“Are you okay?” he asked again, taking care to make sure each of his words were clear and not slurred.

“I'm fine,” Clint said, rolling his eyes. “You're the one in a hospital bed. You've been out for hours.”

Coulson frowned at that. “I don't remember.”

“You've been drugged with a benzodiazepine. They often cause memory loss,” Miranda told him. It was the fourth time she was telling him this.

Coulson continued frowning, but nodded.

“Do you want something to eat?” she prompted.

Coulson tilted his head, considering it. “Pudding,” he said slowly, the word slurring slightly.

“Clint?” she asked softly. He nodded, giving Coulson's hand a squeeze before standing up.

“I'll be right back okay,” he reassured him.

Coulson nodded, and Clint disappeared.

 

Coulson looked back at Miranda. “What am I doing here?” he asked slowly, the words clearer than the last time he asked.

“You were drugged. Clint didn't tell me the details, because it's classified, but you were injected with rohypnol. How are you feeling?”

“Fuzzy,” he finally decided. “Where's Clint?”

“He went to get you pudding,” she explained, patting him on the arm reassuringly. “He's been very concerned about you.”

Coulson smiled, and closed his eyes.

“He's good like that,” he agreed.

“Yes,” Miranda agreed, sitting back in her chair as Clint rounded the corner, puddings stacked carefully under his chin.

 

“Got your favourite Phil,” he declared, passing out spoons. “Coconut.”

Miranda smirked, and helped herself to a spoon, watching as Clint helped Agent Coulson with his, his fine motor skills still a bit shaky.

It may have been unsettling to see Coulson like this, but it was also downright adorable.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> What, no, there is no Phlint here, don't be silly. NONE AT ALL.


	26. Movie Night

Eventually, she and Ron got invited to a movie night. It didn't go very well. Apparently it was Bruce's turn to pick a movie, and it turned out to be a black and white romance, in French no less. It was about a complicated love triangle, and half of the team fell asleep before the middle of the movie. Miranda managed to keep her eyes open until the end, but understood almost none of it, despite the subtitles. Ron fell asleep behind her around the time a gun was brought out.

It wasn't even a very happy movie, half of the cast died in the end, and she left feeling utterly confused and not at all satisfied.

When the team woke up to disperse to their various rooms, Miranda told them she wouldn't be returning if they were all like that. Bruce looked faintly guilty.

“I swore it had a happier ending last time I watched it,” he said quietly.

“That's alright, it's my turn to pick next week,” Tony chirped.

Natasha groaned. “Last time he made us watch the extended edition of all of the Lord of the Rings movies. I thought I was going to die there.”

“T'was indeed long, but I now understand why friend Tony calls the archer Legolas. He was a fine elfin warrior.” Thor nodded solemnly.

“Well I can't pick it again, can I?” Tony snapped.

Steve nodded tiredly. “That is one of the few rules of movie night.”

Miranda tilted her head. “I suppose I could give it another try.”

Tony clapped her on the back. “That's the spirit!”

She rolled her eyes at him and dragged her sleepy husband by the arm. “We're going to bed now. Night everyone!”

The assorted members of the team all murmured farewells to her and her husband, and they disappeared to their room for the night.

They slept well, and weren't even awoken by Thor setting the toaster on fire. Again.

 

The next week Tony made them watch an animated movie with talking animals and a shrubbery named Steve. He didn't look at all sorry. After him was Clint, who made them watch Brave, for what was apparently not the first time, breaking what was one of the only rules of movie night. Miranda wasn't entirely sure how he got away with that, but she suspected his bow, which sat on the couch next to him, helped.

Natasha chose a James Bond film, which was decent. Thor, with a large amount of influence from Tony, Miranda suspected, selected a horror movie with an actor that looked awfully like him. The movie wasn't bad at all, but the similarities were unsettling.

Steve's movie followed, and he chose Die Hard, which made Clint snicked for unknown reasons. Then somehow they were back to Bruce's turn to pick, and Miranda and Ron just kept going.

There was food. What could she say? And if the Avengers were sitting more or less quietly, watching a movie, they weren't out getting themselves injured. It was a win win.

 

* * *

 

Weeks passed, measured by movie nights, spotted with the occasional alien invasion or super villain attack. As Tony liked to point out, most of them weren't even villains, let alone super villains, because they were awful at it. The most severe injury she had to treat was a nearly severed finger on Steve, which healed itself, leaving only the slightest of scars that was gone in a week. More common was making sure Tony ate and slept so that she wouldn't have to sit by his bed while he recovered from pneumonia, or the flu yet again. There was also the occasional broken bone, some minor burns from explosions (Tony had a robot to put out fires, but apparently Dum-E wasn't so good at it), and frequent lacerations. It was odd how quickly the insanity became routine, and how a large green monster wandering into the Tower after a battle was normal. The Hulk would often find food and sit himself in front of the television, growling at Jarvis to put his shows on. He seemed partial to crap telly, usually reality shows, and Bruce would always seem horrified when he realized what he'd been watching.

 

If she thought her life with Sherlock Holmes was unusual, then she didn't even know how to classify this. There probably wasn't a word to describe how far beyond completely unbelievable it was.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Cookies if you can figure out the movies!


	27. Revival

It was November, and aliens hadn't attacked for months when she heard the news.

Sherlock Holmes was alive.

She didn't believe it, she couldn't, not until John Watson posted it on his blog.

 

She's pretty sure she didn't say anything sensible to Ron, just spat out some words and then headed to SHIELD, and fought her way to the Director's office, who seemed unamused to have her appear there.

 

“Sherlock Holmes is alive,” she blurted out as a greeting, and he didn't even blink.

“I have to go back,” she told Fury, not caring that he was glaring at her with that one eye of his. “Do you understand that? It's like... it's like they're my children, and they're coming home from university, except it wasn't just that, he was dead, like, for real, except apparently not. They need me,” she said desperately.

Fury smiled, and it was the sort of smile that made Miranda's stomach fall about a foot.

“I know,” he agreed. “We've already made arrangements for you to go back. Your apartment is being set up again, cleaning crews dusting and whatever, the power and water being turned back on. We were prepared for this contingency.”

She paused in her internal celebration at that.

“Prepared...” she repeated. The realization was horrible. “Oh my god,” she said slowly. “You knew. You knew the entire time, didn't you? You knew he wasn't dead and you didn't tell me?!” she bellowed, more angry now than grateful.

Fury winced, which was more than she thought she'd get from him. “Your clearance level was nowhere near high enough to know that.” He shrugged. “And we didn't even know if, or when he was coming back, if he would come back at all. Because even if he didn't die when the world thought he did, he's been in the depths of human depravity for nearly two years. Not everyone can survive that, hell, we've had a lot of good agents who couldn't. And that was for a much shorter time.” He leaned back in his chair and fixed his gaze on her. “But I suppose this Sherlock Holmes is one special man. But you already knew that didn't you?”

She beamed at him. “Oh god, did I ever.” Her smile vanished. “Hey, don't do that. I'm still pissed at you.”

He raised his eyebrow. “I'd be disappointed if you weren't. Now go pack your things. Agents Barton and Romanoff will be escorting you back to London. Don't let them die before you get there, because until you are off that jet, you are still working for SHIELD, and that means you cannot let SHIELD assets die. Understood?”

She saluted at him, which she probably did horribly wrong, since she'd never been in the army or the navy or anything of the sort her entire life, and it wasn't like she'd learned those things while at SHIELD, babysitting a bunch of superheroes.

He covered his face with one hand and dismissed her with the other.

 

She practically skipped out, but not before he picked up the phone, and she heard him say “We're going to need to get Williams in here. Top priority.”

She didn't envy Williams, whoever they were, although she suspected they were her replacement.

Because she had more important places to be, yes, even more important than being in New York. She had to go home to London, to her London, to Sherlock Holmes and John Watson, those two idiots.

But they were _her_ idiots.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> That's the end of most of it. There's still an epilogue, but this story is largely done, and it makes me sad.


	28. Epilogue

Rory flicked on the light before seeing the man, and froze.

“Bloody hell Fury, you've got to stop doing that,” he muttered. “I do have a phone. You can just phone me.”

“Never know where you're going to be.”

The 'or when' went unspoken.

Rory sighed. “But what happens if you run into Amy. She could have been the one home first, and you know how well that turns out.”

Fury smirked at him. “We need you.”

Rory groaned. “No, no, you told me you found someone else. You told me it was going well. I am not coming in now.”

“We had to let her go back to London. Holmes returned.”

Rory slumped over. “Crap.”

Fury nodded.

“Alright,” Rory relented. “But you have to tell Amy.”

Amy appeared behind him, eyes narrowing as she spotted the man in their flat. “Tell me what?”

In his armchair, Fury visibly swallowed. Maybe he could make do without Williams.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So there's the end. My totally blatant reference. Whoops.
> 
> I am sad it's over. But I have plans for deleted scenes/bonus chapters, and there should be another work in the series for the third season of Sherlock, so watch out for that.


End file.
